My mom gifted me a small bounty of vintage pulp paperbacks this weekend. This one's my favorite. From the back cover:
She heard the door open quietly. In a panic, she sat up and called, "Who's that?"
"It's I, Anny; don't be afraid." He closed the door and she heard the bolt slip in place. He snapped on a flashlight he held cupped in his hand. "Don't turn on the light -- please. I just had to see you."
She put her head back against the pillow, far back. Her eyes were black pools, her lips were full and slightly parted. Somewhere far back in memory she heard a voice, a taunting voice, call: "Lena's daughter, Lena's daughter."
My mom didn't even notice. If Lena has a daughter and names her Anna, we're in trouble.