He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. “My arrival appears to be opportune,” he said stiffly. “I did it for love of you,” he said. “I’m really very sorry. I saw her come out from the flat buildings two minutes before we entered it last night. She donned her fuzzy slippers and traipsed downstairs, the welcoming smell of coffee beckoning her, the sound of Looney Toons music barely audible from the television set. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. She could not go to him with a preachment against strong drink; she knew from experience that such a plan would be wasted effort. "But you mustn't indulge these gloomy thoughts.
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