He wasn't entirely sure which was responsible for the throbbing.
This was the honest, slightly disorienting question that occupied him as he sat at his desk in the emptied room with her hand over his — the specific, dull, comprehensive pulse behind his eyes that had been his companion since approximately four-seventeen in the morning, when he had come to consciousness on the floor of his study with his cheek against the rug and a half-empty glass of Scotch on its side beside him and the specific, still quality of a house that had been empty since the front door closed.
He had been on the floor. He had lain there for a moment taking stock of himself — the particular, methodical assessment of a man who has woken somewhere unexpected and is establishing the damage — and then he had gotten u
