A rough-looking, heavyset man stepped aboard. His body looked pale and unfinished, like something wriggled up from the earth. Like a grub. He was smartly dressed in white-and-cream-colored clothing, creating a dissonance she found both grotesque and mildly disquieting—a worm wrapped in a gentleman’s waistcoat. He limped toward them and said, “The Brinkleys, right?” His voice was coarse and uncultured, thickly Brooklyn; Veronica felt it presented a poor first impression of the Home.
