When her stomach was better, she had a shower and put on her little navy leather sailor suit with the corset waist and white collar. Two of her nails had broken and this depressed her, for her nails were one of her forms of artistic procreation, the tones and pictures she painted on them, and now the canvas was spoiled.

She went down through the house, looking for Cami, and in the pillared hall she saw Malach.

Malach was amazing. He was like a singer, but he did not sing.

He sat on a straight carved chair and by him were the two frightening large dogs in the spiked collars. He was caressing their heads, staring into their bluish honeyed eyes.

Tray went closer.

"Hi," said Tray. "Come here often?"

Malach looked up and saw her. He said nothing.

Tray giggled. It was a dulcet soft sound, unlike the noise Camillo made, like a horse whinnying. "I like your hair."

"Thank you."

"Do you know Cami, then?" asked Tray.

"Little girl," said Malach, gently, "please leave me alone."

Tray started. "I only asked."

"Don't ask. Don't ask me anything."

"Oh," said Tray. She did not believe he was dismissing her. Men turned their shoulders, but they did not ultimately resist. Tray was Desire.

She moved carefully closer, trying to avoid the big hairy shapes of the dogs.

"Cami gave me this necklace. It's polished chicken bones with silver. Aren't they lovely?"

Malach looked at her, past her eyes, into her brain. He said something in a language she did not understand. He said, "Tires-toi." But she knew at once, as if he had thrown her right across the hall.

She backed from him in terror.

At the stairs she stumbled, then turned and climbed swiftly up, away from him. On the landing she looked back. He was engrossed again with the dogs.

She ran along the corridor, and up the other flight of stairs, into Camillo's apartment. She wanted to shake Lou awake and tell her. He swore at me. He said something really filthy.

But it was not the words, it was the rejection.

She bit her broken nails, but only those, down to the quick.

Sitting up in the chair, she fell asleep.

When she woke, Lou was still snoring and Cami had not come up. The window, which was opaque white glass, was blazing with summer morning. The golden clock said it was nine-thirty.

Tray got up and went to the mirror. She looked at herself. She was the same. She turned about to admire her slender, incredible body, its seventeen-inch corset waist, her necklet of bones and silver wheels.

Lou had a thing about Althene. Lou had dug out her gas mask earrings and put them on because of Althene's gas mask with the poppies.

Lou was useless.

Tray went out again and downstairs.

She was afraid he might be in the hall still, but of course he was gone by now.