Below was the hall, and the two doors. And then the outside, the road and the car.

"So you know me," said Stella. "Who am I?"

"You're going to kill me," said Ruth.

"Yes. You're right. But don't try to get away. Do you know why?"

"No. I don't care why."

"You wicked little bitch. You fucking little bitch."

They were in the hall.

Ruth turned and looked at Stella. Ruth smiled.

The smile was marvelous. It was like music or a sunrise.

"Stop that," said Stella. "You have an hour or so of life. But it'll get shorter. Make the most of it."

Ruth's smile left her and she lowered her eyes.

Stella ushered her through the doors and out and under the gray sky.

"Can't you…" said Ruth, "couldn't you do it now?"

Stella frowned.

"You'll have to wait."

She took Ruth's arm, and together they stepped down toward the road and the car.

CHAPTER 47

SOUTH-FACING, THE WINDOW WAS ALSO clear. Only at the top, under the arch of the embrasure, was a slender panel in which were set faceted glass jewels, which produced, as the morning sun passed over in its arc, rainbow prisms which showered the living room. With these the cats, sensing the infinitesimal movement, sometimes played.

The flat was quite modern, with pale apple-green walls in the large main room, and a ceiling three tones lighter. The carpet was dark green and the drapes ivory-white with a plant pattern in several green tones. There were ivory-white blinds trimmed with dull gold. The furniture was in a white wood, that looked unbelievably like the bark of birches. On the table was a huge green glass bowl in which was suitable fruit, subaqueous apples and pears, jade grapes, and one sportive yellow grapefruit.

The bedroom was also large, and done like the main room, but in blues, with blue and ivory velvet curtains and pale blue blinds. There was a double bed. In a concealed cupboard were quantities of sheets and pillowslips, even duvets and their covers, in contrasting blues and ivories.

The bathroom was white with a wine-red carpet and wine and white towels stacked in a second concealed cupboard. There were lights high on the walls, shaped like wine-red roses. The window was in white glass with pink jewels.

The kitchen was in pine, very pale, with adventures in sunshine yellow. All mod cons. Freezer and fridge, technological oven, washing machine, dishwasher, gadgets for coffee and tea and every form of pulverizing food.

Modern, yet unmistakably Scarabae. The colors alone.

Had they, collectively, once known great darkness, that now they strove always after this richness? And was it, if so, only the dark of night?

But she tried not to think of them.