And she buried herself beneath the straw, which she tossed above her head with the wildest gestures. “Are you sick, Michelle? Maybe you should have stayed home. She felt his erection against her naked thigh. No one. She longed to allow him to kiss her again, to touch her again. “I suppose you’ll come to the point soon—if there is one. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. It was now a quarter past twelve. Oui, dans la note. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. “I am glad,” she told herself, “I came.
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