Our ideal had fallen. She heard the television blaring away. ‘We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. I may want you. She lifted the sheet and gestured for him to join her. Larry kept digging heartily into his spaghetti, not intrigued in the slightest. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience. The open books she knew by heart; aye, they had been ground into her, morning and night. He had an air of having told her a deep, personal secret. . He heard Rollo's stump beat a gentle tattoo on the floor. I have tried not to tell you—tried to be simply your friend.
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