She thought of them as fools, but had been sorry to see them go. Melusine glanced at the walls as she sped down the four flights of stairs, and noted with relief that some paintings remained. “Gellett,” he called, “just come and clear up a mess, will you? I’ve smashed some things. All who lived there aspired to be something greater, all who lived there had hope, even the slaves! Oh, Lucia, if you could have seen the Parthenon, or attended the plays at the Athaneum, you would know why I loved it there. She could feel teenage girls from all corners of the room tensing, preparing to shriek. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. I want to know—just as much as I can.
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