They sat in the windowed booth at the restaurant across from each other. She forbade him to escape to his workshop in the basement during those times, denying him his one and only hobby. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. Martin came to the door, looking radiant and relieved. I don’t know if I express myself clearly. Lucy sighed, finding it odd to switch roles as she had over the past weeks. Something as yet unformulated within her kept her estranged from all these practical aspects of her beliefs.
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