She had seen me behaving animalistically. What was more, I had seen her (mostly) naked. How could I look at her again, knowing what beauty was under t...ose garments? How could I look at her eyes and talk about traffic and weather and drink options when I had seen that same face contorted in the throes of the most beautiful agony? How could I listen to that voice speak of journals and citations that had so recently cried out my name during climax? I felt like I had to hide. Everything that had. There, clad in a moss-green dress with a deep v-neck, was Mrs. Harding, looking me up and down with calculating eyes. “It’s about time,” she remarked with a nonchalant glance at her wristwatch. “What,” I managed to stammer after a few seconds, “what are you doing in my room?” “I’ve been waiting for you. Anne gave me her keys.” “So you and she really…” If the question made her uncomfortable, she didn’t let on. Instead, she patted the armrest next to her. “Come here, it’s not productive to talk. More

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