“Have you got a picture of it?”Dessie hesitated.“No,” she said, “not exactly. I can describe it. There’s a woman sitting with a cushion on her lap, and there’s a man lying on her lap with his head on the cushion.”Christer looked none the wiser.She put her knapsack and bike helmet on the floor. Then she sat down next to them.“A woman,” she said, “sitting like this.”Then she lay down on the floor. “And a man, lying like this.”She pulled one leg up, spread the fingers of one hand, and stretched the other hand out.Christer blinked several times.“Dessie,” he said, “what are you doing? What’s this all about? Surely you’re not decorating.”Dessie sat up. She had the photocopy of the dead couple from Dalarö in her knapsack. She didn’t want to show it to Christer. He was so sensitive about blood. He used to think it was unpleasant even when she had her period.“A picture,” she said. “I’m after a picture or a painting with people in the positions I just showed you.”He looked thoughtfully at her.Sh...e lay down again, stretching her right hand across the floor.“Like this,”MoreLessShow More Show Less
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