"It isn't late, Dee Dee."
"Light the gas."
"I—I can undress in the dark."
"Light the gas."
"I—"
"Light it, I say."
"It's lit, Dee Dee."
The figure in the center of the room, in her high-necked, long-sleeved nightdress, her sparse hair drawn with unpleasant tension from her brow, her pale eyes wide, moved forward a step, one bare foot, calloused even across the instep, extended.
"Lit?"
"Dee Dee, what's the matter?"