She always left the table when they began to smoke. Walking into the bedroom, she quickly shed the miniskirt and sweater, folding them without ceremony. It is no crime, none at all. “I want to know who you are. ‘You cannot be always with me. He was wearing a new silk hat, with a slightly more generous brim than its predecessor, and it suited his type of face, robbed his dark eyes a little of their aggressiveness and gave him a solid and dignified and benevolent air. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. Like carpenter, like chips. She ought to be softened and tender and confidential at this phase of her life.
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