’ ‘You say—what?’ gasped Melusine. “Hand me the Jergens lotion, will you? How’d it go with John?” She asked. But she felt his lax figure become rigid. The conceit of Howard Spurlock in imagining he knew what mental suffering was! But Enschede was right: Ruth must never know. “Shot through the lungs,” he remarked. The way—the way we are led on! We are taught to believe we are free in the world, to think we are queens. “It isn’t only the dance,” she said. She heard the television blaring away. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground.
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