Finally she fell into reflection. Drowning, her brain dizzy, Melusine clung to the source of the flooding warmth, her hands, no longer forcibly held, moving without will about the firm back. But as she got out of the train at Morningside Park Station she had a shock. The fire still burned brightly. Suspending his labour on Jack's appearance, the man demanded his business. The walls were pristine white and unmarked except for two sconces and a rather colorless Monet poster that had been framed in an expensive oak surround. Empty, silly, coarse brutes. The jealous burn at his eyes subsided and his finger came up. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key.
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