They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. She painted on the Root Beer Lip Smackers lip gloss that Shari had bought her last Christmas and rouged her cheeks as she had long ago as she once had for Sebastian. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. ‘Well, only look what’s come of it.
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