” “You meant to say ‘morbid’. You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage. Sebastian administered bitter tonics to her, fluids she could not taste with her swollen tongue. But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. Things got hot and heavy in the car the next night, and he peeled off her skirt and top to reveal her underwear. Their conversation was conducted in the flash language, and, though unintelligible to Wood, was easily comprehended by this companion, who learnt, to her dismay, that the wounded man had received his hurt from her son, whose courage and dexterity formed the present subject of their discourse. “None, I thank you,” he answered. He lowered himself on to her.
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