“I’m going to call the police,” she said, her voice quavering slightly, “if you don’t get out.”

I tried to scan her. Nothing. I looked around, squinting in the dark. Tried to scan the other humans. Nothing. Didn’t have the power in this body. Oh, but that’s not possible. I looked at her again. Nothing. Not even a glimmer of her thoughts. Not even an instinct really as to what sort of human she was.

“Ah, very well,” I said, giving her the gentlest smile I could manage, with no idea of how it appeared or what its effect might be. “I hope you burn in hell for your lack of charity. But God knows, I don’t deserve any more than this.” I turned and was about to leave when she touched my sleeve.

“Look,” she said, trembling slightly in her anger and discomfort, “you can’t come here and expect people to give you food!” The blood was pulsing in her white cheeks. I couldn’t smell it. But I could smell a sort of musky perfume rising from her, part human, part commercial scent. And suddenly I saw two tiny nipples sticking against the fabric of the dress. How amazing. Again, I tried to read her thoughts. I told myself I must be able to do this, it was an innate power. But it was no good.

“I told you I’d work for the food,” I said, trying not to look at her breasts. “I’d do anything you asked. Look, I’m sorry. I don’t want you to burn in hell. What a dreadful thing to say. It’s only that I’m down on my luck now. Bad things have happened to me. Look, that’s my dog there. How am I to feed him?”

“That dog!” She looked through the glass at Mojo, who sat majestically in the snow. “You must be joking,” she said. What a shrill voice she had. Utterly without character. So many sounds coming at me had that very quality. Metallic and thin.

“No, he is my dog,” I said with faint indignation. “I love him very much.”

She laughed. “That dog eats here every night at the back kitchen door!”

“Ah, well, marvelous. One of us will eat. I’m so happy to hear it, mademoiselle. Maybe I should go to the back kitchen door. Perhaps the dog will leave something for me.”

She gave a little chilly and false laugh. She was observing me, quite obviously, looking with interest at my face and my clothes. Whatever did I look like to her? I didn’t know. The black overcoat was not a cheap garment, but neither was it stylish. The brown hair of this head of mine was full of snow.

She herself had a sort of scrawny, fine-toned sensuality. Very narrow nose, very finely shaped eyes. Very beautiful bones.

“All right,” she said, “sit down up there at the counter. I’ll have them bring you something. What do you want?”

“Anything, I don’t care. I thank you for your kindness.”