There was a man, a boy, and a woman. She took up the poker and stirred the fire vigorously. It was as if he could smell it on her. In response to an almost imperative gesture from the nurse, Anna laid her hand upon his. The struggle had dislodged the white wimple, which was evidently too large for her, and her black hair broke free, whirling like a whiplash about her head as her hands curled into fists, coming up to beat at his chest, her little teeth bared for attack. She was quite oblivious to the sensation she had created. 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. . She leaned back as he climbed on top of her and kissed her mouth again.
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