He drove to his apartment, a second floor studio he 120 was renting above a bakery. Lucy had been ignoring her, not purposefully, but noticeably. "Thank you," she said, and left the office. Wood was unable to discover the figure of the widow, but he recognised her dry, hacking cough, and was about to call her down, if she could not find the key, as he imagined must be the case, when a loud noise was heard, as though a chest, or some weighty substance, had fallen upon the floor. His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers. It was decrepit and too large.
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