It was something that would create a mutual claim, a relationship. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. It was the only time she had ever hit him, punched him right in the stomach like one of his favorite Three Stooges episodes. She turned her eyes to him again, and saw her late friend and pleasant and trusted companion, who had seen fit suddenly to change into a lover, babbling interesting inacceptable things. “I never planned it—And now I have begun—” She felt acutely that he was entitled to explanations, and as acutely that explanations were impossible that night. The entire family massacred.
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