’ Mrs Sindlesham abruptly sat up straighter in her chair. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. Had he been trying to stop the grim descent, and had he dimly perceived that perhaps a fine deed would serve as the initial barrier? A drunken idea—a pearl in the midst of a rubbish heap. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. "Attend to me, Mrs. .
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