“She lives on the twentieth floor uptown, the elevator is broken down. So I walk one-two flight three flight four…” (—Lou, Lou, skip to m’ Lou—) His singing broke off. He listened. (—Skip to m’ Lou my daarlin’—) The voice was in his head, so much a part of him, so frighteningly close that it might have been a part of his own thoughts. It was soft and infinitely sly. Mocking him. Seeming to say: (Oh yes, you’ll like it here. Try it, you’ll like it. Try it, you’ll liiiiiike it—)
