“I can see that,” he says in a strangely coarse tone of voice, as if a rock has lodged in his throat. “And I would be delighted to continue our argument indoors. We can shout till dawn if it would please you. But please . . . cover yourself first. Otherwise, it makes it very difficult for a man to stay angry.” He grabs his coat and thrusts it toward me. I look down and realize then that the soaked linen of my nightgown is clinging in . . . deeply inappropriate ways. I wrap myself in his coat, feeling my face turn several degrees hotter. “Right. I’m going inside.”
