Mara did n't sleep. She lay on the settee with the living room lights turned completely on, every bulb burning bright enough to make her eyes pain. The hum still dallied, faint but unmistakable, threading through the apartment like a memory that refused to fade. It sounded to come from far and wide and nowhere at formerly — from the walls, the bottom, the air itself. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw doors breathing in the dark, saw light sliding helplessly off a faceless shape that knew her name. At 213 a.m., she gave up pretending rest was possible. She sat up sluggishly, muscles stiff, and heeded. The rain had stopped. outdoors, the