Michelle pulled a Kleenex out of a Pocket Pack and blew her nose. Friday was not a big dinner night at the Beck house. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. Spurling. She was trying to bring her problems to a head, and her mind insisted upon being even more discursive and atmospheric than usual. ‘Ah. Then perhaps it is Prudence?’ ‘Oh la la! That is not me at all. “Why destroy me, child? There are so many secrets I 231 could tell you. ” He leaned towards her.
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