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"I had a terrible dream last night. “I remember when you walked me home. ” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines. "I'd rather have given a thousand pounds than this had happened. She tightened her bandage and sat back, biting her lip. \"The servants will hear you!\" \"I don't care! Why do you?” She cried. She put her clothes back on, 118 lipstick smeared all over her face. . She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. They exchanged greetings with the clarinetist. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure.
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