She came very near that night to resolving that she would return to her home next morning. The kindly faced landlady had failed to catch his name, and said he was a tall, handsome gentleman with a great black mustache. Always. He would pick a random member of the ever-shifting household for the sake of example. Lucy asked Michelle if “Pfister” kept the bras and panties of misfits for their trophy value, or perhaps sold them on the black market to perverted old men. “They seem to come to you as naturally as disappointment—to other people. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. But I know a little place where we’ll get a little quiet talk. I get the worst headaches.
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