Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. And, without another word, he seized the table with both hands, and upset it; scattering plates, dishes, bottles, jugs, and glasses far and wide. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. Gianfrancesco ran from the room, tearing at his hair. It contained three sovereigns, six and fourpence, two postage stamps, a small key, and her aunt’s return half ticket to Morningside Park. She wormed her way past Sebastian, glanced at her mother’s blackened face, her obscenely naked body bulging with yellow and black buboes under the arms and in the groin that oozed stinking fluid. Even now I do not understand. He had a blue overstuffed couch, his own television, even a computer with its own desk. At the same time he comprehended that she was as pure and lovely as the white orchid of Borneo and that she did not carry that ridiculous shield called false modesty. There were shadows under his eyes. Morals only begin when that is settled. “I had to.
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