Mr. ‘Where was I? Oh yes. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. “I was half hoping that I might be allowed to see you home. “So I see that you have become content with your hardscrabble existence, your week-to-week survival, your Martin Chen!” “Who?” “Your limp-wristed lover!” “Um. You’re trespassing again, and I’ve come to arrest you,’ Gerald said promptly.
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