Mike sat down, his body too large for the petite blue couch. The moisture from the sea was constant, and she spent countless hours staring at the sea from the west tower, the rise and fall of waves. She had been going with a twenty-two year old man named Julian Rimbauer in secret. They would arrest him for the French spy they had thought her at first. She felt conscious of her nipples becoming visibly erect under the tight t-shirt and wished that she owned a thicker brassiere. Morals only begin when that is settled. Lucy loved orchestras, the bittersweet tinge of rosin dust that hung in the air, the way that the sun shone through filthy windows illuminating the marimbas with a storybook light. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. “I’m sorry, ma’am, to seem the cause of any disturbance, but this,” he pointed to Anna, “is my wife.
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