It was still early when we got home but Mary wanted to go to bed, she said she wanted me in her. She went to the bedroom, I followed.“Help me out o... these clothes, I’m in a hurry,” she said.It was an unusual request but I helped.“Lift me into bed,” she asked.Even more unusual, she was normally so insistent upon being independent.“Hurry up, don’t keep the lady waiting,” she urged.“What, no foreplay,” I kidded.“Nope, I’m plenty hot right now, hurry damn it.”I climbed on the bed and parted her. They had both readily escaped into the book from the beginning when Ishmael lamented not being able to decide whether to kill himself or someone else. At first, he wasn’t certain she was listening to the story, or just to his voice, but lately she had begun asking questions about obscure words, or asking him to repeat certain sections. These combined signs of improvement allowed him to read for hours when necessary. Every chapter seemed to hold a surprise for them, in this strange book that. More

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