“I wonder which of us is right,” she said. His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. Too much, perhaps. That there gatekeeper would’ve called them out again. At times he was brilliant and masterful, talked round and over every one, and would have been domineering if he had not been extraordinarily kindly; at times he was almost monosyllabic, and defeated Miss Garvice’s most skilful attempts to draw him out. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality. “I made two fruit pies and now I have no one to eat them. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. She had to have him, her body was going crazy for the want of sex.
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