” Rhea whispered. She pawed at him, her hunger for his body making her dizzy with anticipation. And will you look! His name neatly cut out from each title page. Well, kill me. ” “But how?” “I poured him out some port wine, and I said—let me see—oh, ‘You are going to be a grandfather!’” “Yes. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. ” A bureaucratic three hours later, the paperwork was finished. “I noticed him call her attention to us as we passed down the room,” he answered.
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