And he would see her again. It would be a disaster, of course. The way he would take perverse delight in her face flushing with anger and her nose scrunching. How she’d yell at him, and then the flush would go all the way down her chest, dipping below her bodice, at which time, naturally, he’d be distracted by it and stop listening. She’d notice and yell at him some more. He couldn’t wait.
