Abigael would want no coward for a husband. Then the hands disappeared and the figure of a woman with wild hair rose up. Sex “I don’t hear her anymore,” Abigael said. She was pale, and blue about the lips, her eyes red from night after night of weeping and wailing. Something like the cold hand of the banshee had a hold of him and try though he might he couldn’t shake it. The fine mechanics of it, particularly as pertained to her anatomy, were something of a blur. “All right,” she said. He walked a little faster. “You will, won’t you?”
“Of course. “What do you think she meant by that?”
Her hands were busy beneath the makeshift blankets and Adrian jerked when her fingers came to rest down below, but he didn’t pull back. He shook his head to snap himself out of it. Adrian was unused to feel of naked skin. “Louse!”
“Ow! There, in the grass, near a grave with a rare stone marker, a patch of the white flowers bobbed in the night breeze. Mostly they just listened. Adrian pushed the hair back out of his eyes (it was lank with sweat now, as was hers, though he thought hers still very pretty anyway).
