"It's a very specific document," I said, "for something that's for the household."
He said nothing.
"There are only two of us in the household," I said, "who use the pool. That we know of."
"My mother hasn't swum since we arrived," I added, and then immediately wondered why I'd added it, it wasn't useful, it didn't tighten the argument, it was just true.
His face.
I watched his face, the specific quality of it right now, which was not the dinner-table face and not the study face and not the corridor-at-two-in-the-morning face, all of which I had now catalogued. This was the eight-in-the-morning-in-the-kitchen-on-a-Saturday face, which was perhaps the least managed of the versions I'd encountered, the face of a man who had not yet fully assembled the day's architecture around himself,
