A car pulled up alongside the curb. She did not turn to look at it. Slowly, the car cruised next to the sidewalk, rolling slowly with her pace. The horn honked. She did not look up. The horn honked again. She paused and then turned to look at the car and the driver, squinting into the afternoon sun.

“Hello, Margaret,” the driver said.

She recognized him and smiled nervously. “Hello,” she said, her voice very low.

“Want a lift?”

She hesitated. In the sun-washed interior of the Oldsmobile, Felix Anders was smiling, his eyes very green, his teeth very white.

“Come on,” he said.

She hesitated another moment. Her lashes began to flutter. She pressed her coat collar into her cheek with her right hand. Then she moved swiftly to the car door and opened it. She leaned over stiffly. In a very cold voice, she said, “I’m only going as far as the center.”

Felix Anders smiled.

“Sure,” he said. “Get in, stranger.”