Sebastian observed coolly, savoring the outline of Lucy’s feral figure hunching over Michelle’s gradually diminishing body. He put down his hat and umbrella, rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously.
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