The Devil in Gray

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Downstairs, the long-case clock in the hallway struck three. One, pause, two, pause, three, as if it were dolefully counting out how many lives would be lost before it struck again.

Jerry finished slapping paste onto the second-to-last roll of cornflower-patterned wallpaper and began to climb up the stepladder with it double folded over his arm. Three more lengths and the nursery would almost be ready for baby—just as soon as baby was ready for the nursery, anyhow.

He had been decorating the nursery for over a week and he had transformed it from the poky, neglected little box room it had been when they first moved in. Now the paint-work shone glossy and white, the pine door had been stripped and waxed and the doorknob polished. Once he had finished pasting up the wallpaper, there would be noth­ing more to do than hang the matching flowery drapes, lay the pale blue carpet, and move in the crib and the chest of drawers.

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