After about an hour I knew it pretty well and my wife walked back in."Now put the book down and take me through it," she smiled. "Twinkle,Twinkle litt...e thtar." I started and went through the poem faultlessly. Icurtseyed at the end. "Oh well done although you wont be able to curtseywhen you are doing it for real!" she shrieked. I wondered what thatmeant. "Come with me." I followed her downstairs.The kitchen was covered in food over all the units. I wondered how manypeople would see me like this. " I had to look up "thrall" in the dictionary. It means "enslaved, held in bondage." So I asked her."Are you his slave, Mother?" I had asked."Not as people usually think of it, but, emotionally, yes, honey, I am. I enjoy being his," had been her reply."Why?" I had asked."Don't you dream of your phantom possessing you?" she had replied.Oh, did I ever."Mr. McLaren has never invited me to the Hamptons," I said. "He's never invited me any place." That's not true, Christine. We spent four days at. More

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