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Two months earlier, David had had his license renewed, and when he filled in the year of his birth on the form, it had had an antique look to him, the way the dates of the First World War had looked to him when he was a child.
“That’s convenient,” David said. “How did you manage to enslave him?” “The only way possible,” she said. “I figured out what he wants and then I never give it to him.”
Once upon a time, she’d been a nervous flyer, but now that the best years of her life were, by almost any measure, behind her, the idea of dying in a crash was unpleasant but not tragic.
