Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. The fellow is little better than a lunatic. It was shameful, but again, her mother had prepared her for it. She would become defensive—what she did would be the thing that mattered. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. Do you remember when we went right away, Nigel, and forgot everything? We went down the river past Veraz, and the larks were singing all over those deep brown fields, and the river further on wound its way like a coil of silver across the rich meadowland, and along the hillside vineyards.
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