CHAPTER SEVEN
On the Saturday night, they forgot all about the cinema tickets because the two of them sitting at home in the kitchen was a fate just as enviable as sitting in the dark auditorium. It turned out that it was possible, without waiting for any reason or permission, to drink, between the two of them, a bottle of wine with the manly name of Riesling. (For want of a corkscrew, the cork was pushed inside.)
It turned out that getting ravenously hungry at that time of night was not anything out of the ordinary for either and it was all right to fry a whole pan of potatoes precisely by midnight in order to polish it off together.
For no apparent reason, it was appropriate to get into a bathtub together and wash each other from head to toe, without feeling self-conscious about kissi
