“I believe so. Well, I don’t think that’s fair. ’ ‘Your husband?’ Gerald tutted. “Last time I saw you,” he reminded her, “you spoke, did you not, of obtaining some employment in London. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. As soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final resting-place in Willesden churchyard, his firmness completely deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness.
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