"His clothes, honey. Be an angel," she said, and stood up, tall in herknee length boots so that she could start to get dressed.Her sobbing son-in-law ...ritted his teeth, the pain searing through hiscalves and thighs where the seams of his honey tanned stockings had beenthrashed with a venom only his wife ever showed him. Somehow he hadlearnt that he could find some solace with her mother. She would speak tohim more kindly instead of always chewing his ear off, and when it cameto time for his. There are a few almost inaudible gasps, before someone gently claps, and gradually the others join in. The applause is polite, not raucus. While it continues, Jo whispers that I should slowly turn through 360 degrees, to allow everyone a complete perspective.My mind is foggy with euphoria. I am a David in Florence. I am a Work of Great Art. I am a vision to be relished, appreciated and revered. I am fulfilled. I am proud. The applause has died down, and I can hear the proliferation of whispered. More

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