“It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully. He drove to his apartment, a second floor studio he 120 was renting above a bakery. He shrugged and, to Gerald’s relief, made to leave at last. They had their little dreams about her. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. . Part 8 And as she sat on her bed that night, musing and half-undressed, she began to run one hand down her arm and scrutinize the soft flow of muscle under her skin.
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