She was lying face down at the bottom of the stairs, breathing in short gasps, trembling all over. He ran down the stairs, muttering a prayer. By the ...ime he got to her, she was trying to push herself up. Her palms pressed against the floor, her elbows sticking out. The contents of her handbag were strewn across the tiles, and her left shoe was missing. ‘Did you hurt yourself?’ he asked, touching her back lightly. She turned on her side, took a deep breath, then looked up at him. Her eyes. It was a simple black sleeveless cotton dress which showed off her figure even though she didn't like it saying it emphasised all her lumps and bumps. I could see little tears of perspiration running down her armpits and the edge of her bra discoloured by the same sweat. Her breasts always looked full and heavy in that dress whilst it stretched across her backside and at the front strained over her little pot belly. I stood behind her smelling the sweat and the musky odour which was her own and. More

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