Making herself move as if she’s wearing a wide hat and a pencil skirt, Mielikki Neith turns and gives him the three-quarter profile. She doesn’t know how to do that thing with her mouth, that simultaneous hidden smile and sultry pout that conceals—and yet advertises—murderous intent. She thinks it, as hard as she can, hoping to make her body do it the way it’s supposed to be done: the look you can feel in your hip pocket. Think one thing. Think it and live it, and yet be another.