Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. He will return, and you shall be awaiting his arrival!” When her own underarms and groin turned pink, then blue, then black, she confined herself to bed. “Don’t worry, Julian. I wanted to speak to you first. For heaven’s sake, give him some Madeira or something, Gerald! Anything to calm him down. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking.
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