She wanted to go over to him, to touch him, comfort him, but didn’t, afraid of how he might respond. She could see how tense he was, how dark, and s...e didn’t have the strength to face an outburst. He turned and glared at her, then turned away. She hated how he looked at her. She didn’t want him to be angry, but what could she expect? She had stabbed him in the heart, she knew that, knew that he might never recover from the shock and grief of losing his wife to another man. She hated being the. On the floor were unmatched area rugs and a quilt-style coiled oval rug. Her clothes and possessions were strewn about everywhere. Her bureau and dresser drawers were half-open and spilling a wild array of papers, books, clothes, gadgets, trinkets. On her nightstand were so many water glasses that they crowded out her alarm clock. The time was nine PM, on the nose. Martha herself lay on her bed with her legs crossed and her head propped against several pillows. She was sitting halfway up,. More

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