‘Moi, je vais vous tuer!’ ‘I don’t think so,’ Gerald said through his teeth. “There are two things to be done,” he said softly to himself. Sheppard prepared for church. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. . His salary was a few paltry hundreds a year. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed.
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