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shape of the name, the motion of the lips it required.
The silent young man sat straight in his chair. Until that
movement Charles had forgotten he was there. The boy was glar-
ing in alarm at something, so Charles followed his gaze.
The mustachioed man’s eyes followed Cora’s movement and a
slow, creeping leer spread across his face until his upper lip disap-
peared beneath his mustache. Charles fought the urge to mimic
the other boy’s posture of alarm. Cora continued, oblivious. When
she passed the man, Charles saw him breathe in deeply, as though
inhaling her.
Mrs. Johnson, wearing the same white apron as Cora over a
body thickened by age and childbirth, followed her daughter
with a pitcher of lemonade garnished with fresh mint. She paused
in front of the young man, who shook his head slowly, then
looked deliberately at the man, then Cora, then back to Mrs.
Johnson.
In the sudden firming of her jaw and tightening of her lips,
Charles knew the threat had been communicated. She nodded
and the boy let his eyes drift to the corner where the wall met the
ceiling.
Interesting. Charles settled back to watch how it would play
out. He liked learning how things worked — automobiles, facto-
ries, people. People were not so very different from machines.
Once you figured out how all of the parts interacted, you could
very nearly tell what would happen before it occurred. It was clear
the mysterious boy was part of the machinery of this household,
and thus worth noting.
After supper, Charles engaged Thom in a silly argument over
something in the paper as an excuse to linger after all the guests
besides the young man left. When Cora came in to clear dishes,
