"Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. He fondled her naked breasts with his fingers, then his mouth. It now occurred to him that she had always been fully dressed. She was standing there, smiling at the audience as at her friends. She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration. Her head was downcast as she studied the museum-like exhibits of various dusts on the resilient tile flooring. In the genuinely dissipated face there was always a suggestion of slyness in ambush, peeping out of the wrinkles around the eyes and the lips. I’ll walk over there once I change clothes. She confronted him with his own double-standard.
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