"Speak out—don't be alarmed," said Wood, in a kind and encouraging tone. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. “You have a boyfriend! That’s fine by me, it’s your business, but you’d better stop sneaking around because Sheila’s got eyes in the back of her head!” He heard Sheila utter a loud percussive blast of a snore from the master bedroom. She looked at her for a moment fixedly. Your attitude to me—” He fell into a brown study. There were too many kills, too many unsolved files in too many cabinets. Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. “I don’t want you to do it, to go on talking to me.
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