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\" Michelle said dejectedly. 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. Sheppard trembled violently; and though she understood his meaning too well, she answered,—"I can't guess. ’ She allowed herself to be pulled to the centre of the room, but uttered in a low tone, full of suppressed anxiety, ‘How can he know? How can he know?’ ‘You mean how can he know that this is your house?’ Melusine looked up at him, distress in her eyes. Sheppard. He hadn't followed this angle of thought in ten years: what he might have been, with a little shrewd selfishness.
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