I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. “Pump, pump, per-um-pump, Pum, Pump, Per-um. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. Sensing his discomfort, she stood up and brushed lint off of the hem of her gray miniskirt. I cannot turn into a bat. She had to think of something fast, or her reaction would start to make believers out of everyone. I care not. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist. Hill was exchanging greetings with his hostess, and salutations around the table.
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