Spurlock dove headlong at the other's legs, toppling the man. Sheila’s own waif of a husband had objected to her airing the truth, he had even gotten the nerve to bring up the word divorce. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V. It’s true. You have nothing more to fear from Wild. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind.
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