The Paying Guests

by Sarah Waters

But if you were to tire of me, and leave me, after I’d left him—what would I do?’ Frances shook her head. ‘How could

For was that all, she thought bleakly, that love ever was? Something that saved one from loneliness? A sort of insurance policy against not counting? How

And they were making all these plans, contemplating all these sacrifices, and forcing sacrifices on to other people, on to her mother, on to Leonard . . .

But they couldn’t be apart: they moved back into an embrace, their arms tight around each other—as if, she thought, by love, by passion, they could make everything all right.