“I had the pleasure of—er—meeting you more than once, I believe. A woman’s shoe lay on the threadbare carpeting. And when she went to sleep, then always Capes became the novel and wonderful guest of her dreams. ” “Don’t let there be any more. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. From under his pillow he dragged forth the key to the trunk. He had nothing to guide him; for though the torches were blazing ruddily below, their gleam fell only on the side of the building. The threadbare remainders of the dinner discussion hovered over the topics of obsessive fans of the science fiction and horror genres.
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