Ofwarren is in the master bedroom, a good name for it; where this Commander and his Wife nightly bed down. She’s sitting on their king-size bed, propped with pillows: Janine, inflated but reduced, shorn of her former name. She’s wearing a white cotton shift, which is hiked up over her thighs; her long broom-colored hair is pulled back and tied behind her head, to keep it out of the way. Her eyes are squeezed closed, and this way I can almost like her. After all, she’s one of us; what did she ever want but to lead her life as agreeably as possible? What else did any of us want? It’s the
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