I gently disengaged her hand and tapped her cheek with my fingers. Suddenly I took her chin between my fingers and tilted her face up. She looked gravely into my eyes. I bent to kiss her. Her red lips curved to meet mine....
"You stay out here," I said gruffly.
I turned to the door. My hand touched it, hesitated, then twisted the knob. On my face was the smile I had practiced.
Dr. Leopold Moriss was sitting as I had left him so long ago, puffing contentedly on a long black cigar, his dead eyes staring expressionlessly through the haze and streamers of blue smoke. I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. Its click seemed to be the spring that brought him to life.
"Well, January," he said like a school teacher welcoming a child who has been down with the mumps, "you're looking better." He nodded. "Much better. I hope you feel better, too." He shot me a questioning look.
"Yes sir," I said.
"Nothing like getting rid of something," he said. "Getting it off your chest so you can forget it—but that isn't what I wanted to see you about." He leaned forward suddenly. "Is that lipstick?" he asked.
"No, tomato juice," I said dryly. He chuckled while I wiped it off.
"I'd like you to go over my research with me," he said, reverting abruptly to his school teacher voice. "You're the only living man who knows anything about it other than me. You'd like that?" He looked almost pleading.