You creep around in a nun’s habit, peering into a private ballroom. Little by little the pool cleared, the whims vanished: so that both Ruth and the doctor, by the middle of the third week, began to accept Spurlock's actions as normal, whereas there was still a mote or two which declined to settle, still a kink in the gray matter that refused to straighten out. And now she had sent Jack away. Her small round breasts were vulnerable under her mostly nonfunctional Kmart bikini bra. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. “She found my collection of witchcraft books under my bed and threw them away. But you—you have a good face.
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