Chapter Twenty-One
“I wonder if he suffers from Cotard’s Syndrome,” Michel Denis had said. Marie didn’t know why, but to her ears, he sounded full of conceit that day. Then he looked at her as if challenging her. “I don’t suppose you know the characteristics of the Syndrome.”
“No, I’m not a doctor.”
Had there been a faint smile on his lips? Hard to tell in the subdued light from the rough, blue-tinted windows of the gangrene section. They were barred, which made the place feel like a prison.
“Don’t be huffy, Marie.”
Had he actually said that? Or had she imagined it?
And her answer? Why didn’t she answer?
A fragment of her memory was gone, but she was sure that at some point she had said, “Enlighten me, please. What is Cotard’s Syndrome?” She knew she was out of line. After all, she
