” The men at the reporter’s table lifted their eyebrows, smiled faintly, and leaned back to watch how she took her scolding. When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure. “So you still think of me as husband, even though we have long since tired of each other. Courtlaw is looking after you, Miss Pellissier,” she said. She could think of nothing more to say. Our men had him fast, held down in a chair. That held his thought as the magnet holds the needle, inescapably.
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