Michelle was on her like a fly, asking her questions about her past foster homes she did her best to avoid, pretending to be swamped every night with sudden reams of homework and unable to be reached by phone. She stood on the mat instead, and looked down on him. In lieu of the substantial habitations which he had gazed on overnight, he beheld a row of falling scaffoldings, for such they seemed. "You've but a sorry lodging, Mrs. “Did you tell him?” Capes smiled faintly. The red glare fell upon the slimy brick-work, and tinged the inky waters below.
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