Does anyone remember our eyes meeting across crowded rooms, as wine and conversation flowed? Nadira? Sharu? Often, she would signal that she was tired of her admirers and wanted to slip away and sit somewhere, complain of them and recuperate before returning. And who better to slip away with than me, whose absence few would notice? Other times, even on the same evenings, she seemed to thoroughly enjoy flirting with those same admirers, each glance, each laugh a dagger sweetly piercing.
