She was so interested, and this was such a relief from the trudging anxiety of her search for work, that she went on for a whole week as if she was still living at home. She felt like Snow White in a secret forest house populated by dwarves. Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. Sir John felt that after all forty-five was not so very old. They had shared almost seventy five wonderful years there in nearly utter seclusion before it came time to move on. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. ‘Ah, now I may see what damage Gérard has done to me,’ she muttered, crossing to the table and putting her hand to the sore place at her neck. I figured it would hurt your feelings if you knew I still talked to him, so I kept my mouth shut.
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