He kissed her cheek. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. He shut his eyes and groped for the wall to steady himself, wondering if this bit of mummery would get over. I guess she used to pick on her for being big and fat. ‘What a catalogue. He stopped before her suddenly. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. Still—I don’t know whether I quite like—Something ramshackle about those people, Vee.
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