“That’s what we narcs have to do. ’ A burning at his chest, the general ground his teeth. Go in, go in, Melusine prayed, hoping desperately that he would not change his mind and take another route. She had never heard anything so unholy. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. .
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