‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. He wriggled underneath her heaving body, pinned like an insect. So you took my womb away, you took my baby! So I could be a monster! Because she was a monster! We are monsters!” He grabbed the top of the cannon away from her face. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. “You know of no one likely to have had a grudge against this man?” he asked. Could you just let me in? I have a surprise for him. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian.
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