He’s waiting. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. A sense of loss was amongst us. She never had been much of a looker, but she had stopped worrying about such things long ago. Another glass, Jack. ” She said as she rested her head against his chest, eyes unfocused on the fading sky. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples.
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