CHAPTER EIGHT
Hazy had found herself a psychoanalyst, a slim, dark-haired houri with narrow cool features and a glacial somber gaze only slightly softened by chic eyeglasses with big, round, whiskey-colored lenses. They had met in the TALK room no more than a few minutes after Diana and Tracy and Anton and, Richard had left, and there Hazy had heard the story from her of how she had come to the back chanal against her better judgment and in spite of her reservations, because she felt that unfamiliar experiences should be explored, scientifically, objectively. Hazy had intrigued her by hinting at an experience they might share together, a revelation as it were, and had led her into a small private room on the top floor of the house. There they were alone in a nimbus of lamplight, Pavana se
