He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt. She liked to do it for Cathy Beck, so that she could relax after waitressing all day at the Big Apple with a homemade meal. His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. Once again, he passed his hand over the surface and carefully noted all the obstacles. His face brightened at the sight of her, and he came toward her. He envied her a little. No, don’t interrupt me. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. She moaned as he buried himself completely to the hilt. She felt that there was a hidden meaning under his words.
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