" "All right. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. ‘Do not speak any more for you give yourself pain,’ said Melusine fearfully. No hair to fall awry, no powder to displace, no ruffles to crush; men are lucky. ’ ‘You need not be a nun,’ he said, leaning towards her. I am carrying back a hundred new books and forty new records for the piano-player. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. Why? Because Howard Spurlock the author dared not risk the liberty of Howard Spurlock the malefactor; because there were still some dregs in this cup of irony. But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. It was a look that accorded very well with the hayloft setting that had come to mind.
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