95 The officer showed her into the sleepy suburban police station, a hub of inactivity on Sunday night except for herself and a slightly drunk woman who had been brought in for DUI. Pragmar, the wholesale druggist, who lived three gardens away, and who had been mowing his lawn to get an appetite for dinner, standing in a fascinated attitude beside the forgotten lawn-mower and watching her intently. Melusine glanced at the walls as she sped down the four flights of stairs, and noted with relief that some paintings remained. “Let me see,” she said to herself, trying to control a slight sinking of the heart, “I am going to take a room in a lodging-house because that is cheaper. So it is that I do not do these things. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. “Don’t be too sure of that,” she answered enigmatically. He must preserve it, however, as they preserved the Ark of the Covenant.
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