The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. “Michelle, I think that you are the victim of an extremely overactive imagination. ‘You have said you do not wish to marry me,’ she accused. His vision was becoming accustomed to the faint light now and her features were clearer. Sheppard uttered a piercing scream. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. ” She paused. “I shouldn’t have waited,” she said. She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. She cursed Satan and screamed at the heavens, praying to Mary frantically. His hand flew across the paper.
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