It remains a bizarre idea to me that Lucy Alberti could ever become so detailed or so real, but I’m certainly glad to have made her acquaintance. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. She forbade him to escape to his workshop in the basement during those times, denying him his one and only hobby. She became aware that at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment. “She can’t. One she entered and met with a sharp rebuff, which she appeared to receive unmoved. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation.
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