I expected an apology for the incident this afternoon with the muscled workman and placidly waited for her to offer one. I figured that it would do her good to struggle a little with this. If she hadn’t been guilty in her own eyes, she wouldn’t have sought me out. Since she was guilty, it was not my place to make her task any easier.
“Perhaps you’d like to come in and sit down,” I suggested, and without her agreeing, I moved to living room, which was across the foyer from my study. This was a much airier space, which I thought would be less intimidating for the waifish woman. I sat down in a formal wing-backed chair and motioned her to the brocade sofa opposite.
It appear to take some seconds for the woman to figure out what she was doing standing in my living room. Then, she abruptly
