’ ‘Melusine,’ shrieked the nun. You know, Melusine. “You have a boyfriend! That’s fine by me, it’s your business, but you’d better stop sneaking around because Sheila’s got eyes in the back of her head!” He heard Sheila utter a loud percussive blast of a snore from the master bedroom. His baggy shorts sagged over knobby knees that tapered into decrepit Reebok sneakers. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. Then blackness. Oh God! pardon me. She helped him take it off. To-night I locked up my flat at six o’clock. Mrs.
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