I cant understand what he says as he speaks in a language I suspect might be Latin. His right arm holds me against his body tightly restraining me. I ...now I should run, but I cant make my self move. His voice is so calming, so relaxing. I want to listen to him whisper all day, all night if he wants to. My knees go weak, and he laughs, such a hearty laugh, shouldnt we all be laughing? His right thumb strokes the bottom of my left breast as he shifts my weight against himself. I can hear his. Perhaps he would sit here for the rest of the day. Perhaps for the whole of his life.Occasionally friends would call, but he would usher them away. It was imperative that he grieve in private. His friends had not been part of the relationship between he and Joy. Indeed, he and Joy had studiously avoided company, because time together was the most important thing.The dim afternoon darkened as dusk approached. Still he sat. He had opened a bottle of whisky, but had poured only one glass and had. More

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