Listen, Jack. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. ‘Very inventive. ‘Very wise,’ he commented, slightly relaxing his arm. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. He waited the pleasure of Monsieur. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. She pulled a few strands of her hair from her head to leave with Michelle’s.
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