She killed a man who was squatting outside of a freezing brick shanty on the southern edge of Chicago as he waited for his dealer. ‘You do not want to be a nun,’ he said now, and Melusine noted with a prick at her senses the irritation in his tone. Please to let me go there. You are not my husband. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. ” She could not go on, for she was laughing and crying at the same time.
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