“I might go home, I don’t know. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. “Shit happens, John. ‘Here she is. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. Melusine flung herself down the rest of the steps and through the doorway. Gerald smiled and crooked his elbow. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. Smith's solitary orb followed in the same direction. “Why are you so distant? Why all the mystery? What are you, a narc? Double-oh-seven or something?” She steeled herself, refusing to react.
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