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“I’m glad you’re out, Sean. I hope life’s treating you better.” “Water under the bridge.” But he said this with the air of one who spent a lot of time on bridges, waiting for the bodies of his enemies to float past.
The occasional bloom was a defiant gesture, a doily the pink and white of a conjunctivitis-riddled eye.
Hearing more feet on the stairwell, she slipped back out of sight, noticing as she did so a strange sensation in her face; an unaccustomed tautening of muscles. She used her hand to check—yep. She appeared to be grinning.
