Pointing his face in the direction of the kitchen he took a discreet sniff. Then he spied Hannah standing on the far side of the room, head bent down, her posture—she was side on—an appalling blend of sway back and hunched shoulders, her buttocks, flattened by her slacks, two side-on saucers atop spindly legs. A fold of belly flesh hung over her waistband. She was so caved in as to be bereft of dignity and Adam might have pitied her were she not supercilious with it. She appeared listless and adrift, yet she had an occupation, two in fact, tending the bar and attending the phone. One might say she was flat out, engaged as she was in activities that required little of her.
Adam straightened, lifting his chest. He was a man who spent five days of every week talking smoothly through his head
