“I suppose my levity is incorrigible. She slept in a bedroom clad in linens and skins, walked down hallways bedecked in the most gay and colorful frescos. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. "Not as I loved mine. She hated tricking Shari, whose joy for life was the only thing that made her naive enough to fall for laced iced tea or hot cocoa, depending on the season. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. But all of that was forgotten. As soon as he had read it, he let it fall from his grasp.
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