“It is early. She watches the cold light extend through the gloom, illuminating the open wardrobe, the hanging clothes, sharpening the narrow black shadows and folds. Between her legs there is a stickiness. If it is blood then it is over. Once again. She lies still. All that is visible of Simon is one shoulder, grey in this light, and the ruffled back of his head. After five years she can still be moved by his beauty, the soft wing of shadow cast by his shoulderblade onto the smoothness of his b...ack. The strong curve of Simon’s shoulder is like marble in the early light, a virtuoso sculpture, solidity and life captured in dawn and grey. She imagines this shape in clay, massive, hollowed, glazed grey with a tinge of pink to indicate dawn, or life. There is a definite dampness. She gets up carefully, imagining the brownish map she will leave behind on the pale green sheet, but in the gloom there are no colours and she cannot see. In the bathroom she finds no blood, only a white moisture.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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