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women.
    But take heart! If he is fortunate enough to survive all that is going to happen to him before we take our leave of him—and we must tell you that his survival is not remotely guaranteed—then his reward, such as it is, will be to become an adult man and still not understand women.
    “What have you there?” said Starkly, having reappeared so abruptly that Paul jumped, startled. Instantly he thrust the mummified female into his pocket and stood up with his hands wide open and presented for inspection. Starkly did not seem impressed. “Did you take something with the intention of stealing it?”
    “No. Nooo, no, no, no. No.”
    “I think I don’t believe you,” Starkly said. “Aren’t you aware that thieves will be killed, just as it says on the sign?”
    “What sign?” said Paul innocently. He looked where Starkly was pointing, but saw nothing.
    Now Starkly looked where he was pointing and made an irritated noise with his lips. “Someone must have stolen it,” he said. “Well, it seems you’ll be getting off lucky this day. Best be off with you, then, before the sign turns up and something unfortunate happens to you.”
    Paul started to reach into his pocket to remove the mummified woman and replace her, but Starkly did not give him the opportunity. Instead, waving the belaying pin in a very authoritative manner, he said, “Off with you! Immediately! Don’t even think of putting your hands into your pockets in order to take something out of them, or I assure you it will go badly for you.”
    “But—”
    “No butting. Butting is for goats. Are you a goat?”
    “No.”
    “Off with you, then,” he said firmly.
    Paul went to the door, opened it, and immediately was struck by the total absence of the sound of the bell. “Did you hear that?” he said.
    “Hear what?” said Starkly with a tilt of his head.
    “Did you not hear that?” Paul said. He looked up at the bell that was hanging on the edge of the door. “The bell kept ringing, and now it’s not.”
    “That bell has not rung since the day I took over this store,” Starkly said. He reached up and tapped it with his finger. It produced no noise, not even the slightest tinkling. “See? Nothing.”
    “But I thought—”
    “Boys don’t think,” Starkly said. “Boys do. Boys believe. Go do something you believe.” And with that, he closed the door firmly, leaving Paul out in the street and the bell thumping soundlessly against the door.

Chapter 4
    The Crooked Old Lady with the Hooked Nose
    I f any of you are sitting snug in your homes and wondering where The Boy might be at this point in the narrative—whether he’s actually Paul, now living a normal life as a youngster struggling to find his way back; or perhaps residing in some world existing only in the shadow realm of mirrors, not unlike that blond-haired girl in another tale; or perhaps he was just strutting around the Anyplace and far too taken with whatever had lately caught his fancy to concern himself about anything else—take heart that several of his most devoted followers were wondering much the exact same thing. And since their particular situation was far more dire than yours, you can be cheered that a small bit of impatient frustration is a pale thing compared to worrying that you are going to die with The Boy not there to aid you.
    The foremost of his followers was a young lady who served a peculiar function in The Boy’s life. She was a petite British girl named Gwenny, an occasional visitor to the Anyplace rather than a permanent resident. There are some very curious aspects to Gwenny, beyond some of the more head-scratching aspects—such as that sometimes The Boy saw her as his mother and other times as his wife, arbitrarily addressing her sometimes as “Mother” and other times as “tut-tut, my dear” (which is what he thought husbands called wives). But this part is about Gwenny, not The Boy’s peculiarities.
    So: the curious aspects of Gwenny. Once