The Night-Cellar XVIII. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt. He spoke the automatic thought that entered his mind. The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed. It had been Ann Veronica’s lot as the youngest child to live in a home that became less animated and various as she grew up.
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