was a hell of a he says aloud. He turns briefly to face the wall behind the “She woman,” sofa, and then turns back and stares at his hands. I ask. But he is not looking at me—or at Benjamin, or at the room. “Thomas?” would have been a hell of a he says. “She woman,” I leave the room.
“She was a hell of a woman,” he says aloud. He turns briefly to face the wall behind the sofa, and then turns back and stares at his hands. “Thomas?” I ask. But he is not looking at me—or at Benjamin, or at the room. “She would have been a hell of a woman,” he says. I leave the room.