“Come in,” she called.
I pushed the door open and walked in. I didn’t sea her in bed and I looked round the room blankly.
“Hello there,” I said, “where’ve you gone?”
“Good morning, Ross,” Myra said, and patted me lightly on my head.
She was floating near the ceiling, a book in her hand and a cigarette between her lips.
“Holy Moses!” I said, starting back. “Must you do that?”
“Why not?” she said, “Haven’t you heard the saying ‘I’m walking on air’? Well, I’m lying on it. It’s very comfortable and restful.”
She floated slowly down until her face was level with mine then she put her arm round my neck and lowered her feet to the ground. She stood with difficulty.
“I’m feeling very light, this morning,” she said, “As light as a thistledown.”
I looked at her thoughtfully, “Apart from that,” I said, “How do you feel?”