Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. He smiled. ” Brendon rose and came towards her with outstretched hand. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. ‘Obsessed, that’s what you are. ” Anna shivered a little. “May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially.
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