’ As she spoke, she slipped the collar around my neck. It cupped my chin and lifted it a little uncomfortably. She deftly fitted the smaller collars...to my gloved wrists. 'You will not suffer any pain at my hands but you will be restrained by these devices. I enjoy a little helplessness in my lovers.’ She had me lift my skirts and petticoats and remove my shoes. She fitted two more collars to my ankles. ‘Now, sit and we will enjoy our wine together.' Thus adorned and uncomprehending, I sat. The. He was a knife man, not a bomber. He was keeping his head down, being mild-mannered farmer Gareth Finnegan and hoping the world would forget there’d ever been a Frank Morgan. He wouldn’t’ve up and joined the IRA and learned bombs while he was trying to be a good husband and father.”“No, we didn’t.” Helen agreed, lighting a cigarette and moving over to the couch to sit next to him in front of the photos. “That bomb predates the studio by several months, though. Scott probably didn’t even know. More

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