's starred, I
think. I was going to take you, before this extra work came up."

He could see her take the bait and nibble at it. She had some vague
crush left for Taylor. She stared at the television set, shifted her
bulk, and then shook her head reluctantly. "It'd be nice, Henry. But
going at night costs so much, and--well, a penny saved is a penny
earned."

"Exactly. That's what I meant to say." He even relaxed enough to
overlook the platitude, now that there was some hope. "I saved the
price of lunch today. The nut who wanted _King in Yellow_ was so
tickled to get the copy finally, he insisted on treating. You can even
take a cab home afterwards."

"That's nice. It'll probably rain, the way my bunion's been aching."
She considered it a second more, before cutting off the television. He
watched as she drew off the apron and went for her coat and hat,
making a pretense of dabbing on make-up. She might as well have worn
the apron, he decided, as she came over to kiss him a damp good-bye.

* * * * *

He considered calling Shirley, but her mother was visiting her, and
the conversation would have to be too guarded at her end. If he could
find some way of getting rid of Emma....

It wouldn't even be murder, really. More like destroying a
vegetable--certainly no worse than ending the life of a dumb cow to
make man's life more worth living. It wasn't as if she had anything to
live for or to contribute. It would almost be a kindness, since she
lived in a perpetual state of vague discontent and unhappiness, as if
somehow aware that she had lost herself. But unfortunately, the law
wouldn't look at it in such a light.

He'd only been thinking actively of getting her out of the way since
August, however; and somehow, with time, there must be some fool-proof
scheme. There was that alcohol-injection system--but it required
someone who would drink pretty freely first, and Emma was a
teetotaler. Maybe, though, if he could get her to taking some of those
tonics for women....

He dropped it for the moment and turned back to the book. It was an
odd old volume he'd received with a shipment for appraisal. There was
no title or date, but the strange leather binding showed it was old.
Apparently it had been hand-set and printed on some tiny press by the
writer, whose name was omitted. It seemed to be a mixture of
instructions on how to work spells, conjure demons, and practice
witchcraft, along with