and laughed.

"Does it strike you that a certain monotony has come into our relationship?" she asked.

"It strikes me that a certain pain has come into my stomach," Marc wheezed. "Would you be kind enough, I wonder, to take a seat elsewhere for a change? Or am I going to have to wear you like a watch fob from now on?"

Toffee eyed his mid-section with scorn. "If you think that shriveled bladder of yours is so comfortable, you just ought to try sitting on it sometime."

"That would make an interesting spectacle," Marc commented acidly. "If I'm not comfortable to sit on it's probably because you landed on me so hard you're on my spine. Get off."

"A pleasure," Toffee said and slid to the floor beside him. "Here's that silly book of yours." Without thinking, except to express her contempt for Marc's central region as a seating arrangement, she tossed the book in his direction. The book described a small arc toward Marc, then promptly swooped upward in rapid ascent.

"Oh, my gosh!" Marc said. He sat up and grabbed just in time. "Let's not...!"

Suddenly he stopped as a series of footsteps sounded on the floor above.

"Julie!" he hissed in a stage whisper. "My wife!"

"Marc!" Julie's voice called distinctly. "Marc! Where are you? What was all that noise?"

Marc turned to Toffee. "Go!" he said. "Vanish!"

Toffee gazed blandly on his distress. "I can't," she said, "unless you go to sleep, of course. I couldn't if I wanted to. Which I don't."

"Oh, Lord!" Marc groaned. He stood for a moment, torn.

"Marc!"

Julie was approaching the basement doorway now.

"I've got to go," Marc rasped. "You stay here. Promise?"

Toffee smiled and nodded. "Sure," she said. "But you'll come back, won't you? Because if you don't I'll stir up enough hell down here to raise the dead."

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