‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. ’ Gerald tutted. ’ I said. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. He had dungarees on and a blue work shirt. He might call her wife, but she refused to give him his wedding night. This key," he added, taking it from the boy, "was purloined from me by your father, Jack.
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