73 < 10 > AT HOME, 1982 Lucy woke up the next morning with Shari’s slow sonorous breathing only a few feet away. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. Pottiswick’s daughter found her tongue. ‘Monstrously unfair of you, Hilary. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. “Vee,” she said, “come home.
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