“Dion himself had even thought of confessing. But the possibility that he might be taken seriously was an effective deterrent. It would clearly have brought him a grade two, which would have interfered not only with his occasional attempts to scribble poetry but also with the important discoveries he was making about human nature—chiefly his own. Having left Leander—as he thought, for good—in the sausage-littered wilds of Oxfordshire, he had returned to London with as much celerity as the jet pa...ck could supply. He was almost chagrined to discover that his absence had not been noted. Sylphide lay just as he had left her. She yawned when he plugged into the vid to discover the score in the Mother of Parliaments. She yawned when he told her of the sudden epidemic of purple politicians. She yawned when he made love to her. And she yawned when he again absently anointed her with what was left of the flat and now warm champagne. She had not even missed him. Which was all just as it should be, he told himself with some satisfaction.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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