“Rayner sometimes thought his wife made love with one eye fixed to some imaginary stopwatch, that she handled his flesh as if she were wearing surgical gloves. She seemed both intimidated by the physical act and aloof from it at the same time. He thought of someone performing an operation: open-thigh surgery. Her orgasms were quick, strangulated little things, a brief outcry and then a slide into a silence that suggested embarrassment. An atavism of sorts, he imagined: Isobel, Victorian wife, ra...ised on a diet of conjugal manuals, wifely etiquette, how to behave with a lustful husband during “the bad time” of the month. He rolled away from her and looked at his wrist-watch on the bedside table. Seven-thirty: a sexual duration of seven minutes. Turning back, he glanced at her. She had the kind of beauty that suggested something rare preserved in formaldehyde; alabaster afloat in crystal liquid. She turns heads, he thought. When she strolls through a room—ah, how the heads do turn. But at the heart of this beauty there were chips of ice.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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