’ A panel slid open and she stepped into the relative light of the little dressingroom, Kimble close behind her. "Now stand before me, Poll. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. If he stayed in the basement apartment as was his usual habit, she would have no problem. Her eyes filled as she thought of him, the image of his laughing countenance coming into her mind, to be swiftly followed by a vision of the blood running from his cut hand. " "You, Miss Enschede?"—frankly astonished that one stranger should offer succour to another. She could smell him almost as strongly as she could the new paint on the fire escape walls, along with the wool suit and the weird polyester smell of his wet umbrella. “Um, he took me to the Big Apple. Now it is—’ ‘What are you doing still here, missie, that’s what I’d like to know?’ demanded the man Trodger, sticking to his guns. I'm as much astonished as you.
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