He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. ” She said as she rested her head against his chest, eyes unfocused on the fading sky. ” She smiled. I have always managed to survive, haven’t I?” She was eager to stop talking about her parents. Annabel laughed a little uneasily. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. Happily they had no one else to wait for, and it heartened her mightily to think that she had ordered the promptest possible service of the dinner.
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