He reminds me of a slave I once had in Rome with those sullen dark eyes and that wistful pout. Vorsack sat alone at his computer in his pajamas. ‘Did it indeed?’ ‘I should think he’s guessed, don’t you?’ ‘Without any doubt at all. Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. The man lingered. Sorrows and danger and disappointment she had known. Jack submitted to this scrutiny with a very bad grace, and vehemently protested his innocence.
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