’ ‘We had other matters on hand this morning,’ Roding told him sharply. Watching her strip had been delicious for him, and a part of him enjoyed her self-consciousness acutely. Nothing anyone could say or do would change him. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. ‘And that object confirms me in the belief that it is not I who will shortly meet my maker. Clearing the recess the instant after his companion, he flew to the door of the inner room, and, locking it, took out the key.
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