He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. "I give you one minute for reflection. He'll be able to help us a little now. " This she did carefully, but inwardly commenting that he was still in the realm of strange fancies. She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. They were childless and servantless, and they had reduced simple living to the finest of fine arts. Do you know the story of Orpheus? He was a musician who followed his damned wife into Hell to bring her back? He was one of us, I believe. Efforts were made to staunch his wounds and surgical assistance sent for. Then we can loiter and gossip to our heart’s content.
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