stale smell that incense leaves next day. Like foul
―Would you like the window open a little?
She doubled a slice of bread into her mouth, asking:
―What time is the funeral?
―Eleven, I think, he answered. I didn’t see the paper.
Following the pointing of her finger he took up a leg of her soiled drawers from the bed.
No?
Then, a twisted grey garter looped round a stocking: rumpled, shiny sole.
―No: that book.
Other stocking.
Her petticoat.
―It must have fell down, she said.
He felt here and there. Voglio e non vorrei. Wonder if she pronounces that right: voglio . Not in the bed. Must