Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. The students passed Juicy Fruit sticks and notes back and forth, bartering various forms of social currency. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. Each manuscript was like the other: the same lovely treatment of an unlovely subject. Away in London even now Capes was packing and preparing; Capes, the magic man whose touch turned one to trembling fire. He envied her a little. There were too many kills, too many unsolved files in too many cabinets. He motioned the young man to the rear chair, because at that hour the youth appeared to be a quantity close to zero. ’ ‘No, of course you could not,’ Gerald soothed.
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