Just feeling the smooth plastic at my finger tip and staying so still. I can hear your breathing lift through the room. The light down the hall comin... from around the wall corner and from the street light through a window. Like a far away place and us engulfed in the darkness so far away from it. My hand rests on your shoulder and I feel your muscles tense up. My fingers just on you bare skin and the strap of your dress. I rub softly… as I step a little closer to you. Stepping to be just. To the coachman’s horror, she told me to enter the coach and return with her to her house. She had, she said, some clothes which might be of use and she would ensure her cook fed me well. Indeed, she said, I needed feeding and she was right. I was a poor specimen and no mistake. As we drove through the busy London streets she asked of my background and, quite candidly, I told her much as I have revealed here. That woman was a saint. True to her word she had me bathed, fed and clothed. I had. More

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