She was supposed to be reading at home, and after breakfast she strolled into the vegetable garden, and having taken up a position upon the staging of a disused greenhouse that had the double advantage of being hidden from the windows of the house and secure from the sudden appearance of any one, she resumed the reading of Mr. “Carolyn loves ‘Fiddler on the Roof. He would raise her up once again, ply her with silks and jewels again, all of the accoutrements of the new generation: the cars, the toys, the restaurants, and the prestige. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. Your maid has twenty minutes to pack your dressing case for one night, and you have the same time to change into a travelling dress. When he returned from pissing, he sat down with her. It had been intensified and corrupted by time, as if to add insult to injury. She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. It was a “territory” back then, and many a Frenchman and a Redskin both had been devoured in those caves. It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that.
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