His mother smiled in return, an act that brightened her thin face. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. “How are ya, buddy? Good job at the concert. I keep on thinking of little details and aspects of your voice, your eyes, the way you walk, the way your hair goes back from the side of your forehead. She snatched about in her mind. Why do women take to lies and deceit and trickery as naturally as a duck to water?” “You are not alluding, I hope, to Miss Pellissier?” Ennison said stiffly. I could not dream of loving you.
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