95 The officer showed her into the sleepy suburban police station, a hub of inactivity on Sunday night except for herself and a slightly drunk woman who had been brought in for DUI. “He fell over at my feet,” she continued. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. . "Do you know what you make me think of?" "What?" "As if you had stepped out of some old family album. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. “There’s no delusions, so far as I know,” said Ann Veronica. And I do not know you. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts.
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