“I suppose I shall have to write an answer. We were two people with a craving. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. It was the end, she told herself, fiercely. I won't dig their graves with my nails. He talked about his driver's license, how he would soon inherit his older brother's BMW. After listening attentively for a short time without drawing breath, he became convinced that his apprehensions were groundless, and, greatly relieved, sat down upon the chair to rest himself and prepare for further efforts. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces.
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