It was from Brendon. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. Find your man, that’s the rule. “I want to ask you a question,” he said. She padded up the stairs to the bedroom, finding that her sheets had been changed with a fresh pillow case to welcome her weary head. I am something of an old fogey, Anna, I’m afraid, but if you treat me like this you will teach me to forget it. Just as soon as I deal with this little tramp, I’m going to divorce you and take every penny that you’ve ever made, including your pension and your measly inheritance from 125 your dishrag of a father!” Something in the little man’s mind snapped.
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