. 238 < 30 > IN BED John drove her home after school nearly every day. ‘Oh, peste. She had killed him. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. “Before this there was a sort of restraint—a make-believe. . And Anna was conscious of a few moments of exquisite emotion. She would write to Gerald. ‘Dreadfully untidy, is it not? Can’t abide bare rooms. ” Her elation teetered in mid-air for a second, then began to flutter down around her like a badly-built house of cards.
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