Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies. “You mean to tell me” he said, “that you have a lover? While I have been keeping you! Yes—keeping you!” This view of life he hurled at her as if it were an offensive missile. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly,’ he said, still meeting her eyes, unaware that his hold about her hand had tightened a little. He would have sent the Virgin Mary to heal the baby. He became angry. I WAS talking to him before I saw his name on the card beside the row of microscopes. “I know. “Annabel! Why, what on earth have you been doing to yourself, child?” she exclaimed. Sweet sixteen year old Shari, who never once figured out the morning sleep hangovers she suffered monthly.
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