She thought gleefully of the dress she would get to wear for the Ball (Prom?) and could not wait to tell her foster family about how excited she was. ’ ‘Yes, Hilary, do stop hustling the girl,’ put in Miss Froxfield, much to Melusine’s relief and approval. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. In each pause she could sense his growing trepidation. Yeah, I’m thirty-seven. Hold your hand for a moment. Three little letters can’t make a bit of difference. Most of my people are upstairs dressing for dinner. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers.
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