"Sleeping." He rested his head against the wood of the door for a moment."How are you?" Me?" He turned to face her, surprised by the question. "I'm fi...e." No, you're not." She stepped away from the sofa beckoning for him to follow her to the garden."I'm fine, really," he assured her but followed her nonetheless."You're angry," she told him, once they'd emerged into the damp air. The recent rain prevented them from sitting on the grass, so they leant side-by-side against the wall. "I can. .. she couldn’t manage a Grimaldi. I would send my “regrets,” of course. I thought about my crazy weekend last year. Was I Laura’s frolic among her inferiors? Her bit of rough?I was invited to give a paper in Adelaide, at the South Australia Museum, and dug into my (old) notes from my trip to the Great Victoria Desert while I was at Long Pocket. I went to Merchant of Venice at the Theatre Centre, but it wasn’t the same without Bettina. I realized that Shakespeare was far more when you discussed. More

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