““Good morning,” I said. “Did you sleep?” I knew the answer to that question before he even replied. Dark shadows beneath his eyes looked like smudges of ash on his pale skin, and a day’s growth of beard coupled with the bruises and grubby clothes gave him a disreputable look. “I tried,” was the terse reply. Clearly, he failed. “Hugo, I know you’re angry with me, but I couldn’t have acted any differently than I had,” I began, needing to explain to him why I’d behaved the way I had. ...“I’m not angry with you; I’m angry with myself,” Hugo said gruffly, finally turning to face me. “Why?” I asked, surprised that he would be so hard on himself. Things had certainly gone wrong, not that there was a graceful way of barging into someone’s bedroom, kicking the living daylights out of him, abducting his wife, and leaving him gasping for breath after nearly choking him to death, but at least everyone was alive and almost well. I was about to point that out to Hugo when he finally spoke.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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