It dropped sideways and fell with a bang to the table. And from that they came back by way of the Kreutzer Sonata and Resurrection to Tolstoy again. His mouth was sensuous but his eyes became frenetic. ‘You ain’t got nothing on me. “John, don’t!” she cried. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. ‘Nevertheless, you will marry me,’ he snarled. “I wrote it for you. ‘And me?’ ‘Oh, you’re mad because you wish to blow off my head.
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