\" Michelle drifted into a reverie. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. For the sort of love-making you think about. In response to an almost imperative gesture from the nurse, Anna laid her hand upon his. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. She guessed that he probably slept all of three hours a night at most. Generations had been born and died in between the times she had gotten laid. She could not stir hand or foot. And all to find that picture of Mary Remenham. In the presence of the husband of his mistress Rollo was always dignifiedly cheerful, but he never leaped or cavorted as he did when alone with Ruth. It feels like it.
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