He could lose himself for hours at a time. ‘Shocked you, have I? We weren’t mealy-mouthed in my day, my boy. He did like her, anyhow; he was always pleased to be with her. She listened, listened intently for several minutes. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. \"So what is up with you and John Diedermayer? Is he, like, after you?\" She looked at Michelle quizzically. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome.
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