Mike settled on the big settee and I took the armchair. C went to the loo again, and she was quite a long time, but when she returned she had changed ...nto her nightwear and her dressing gown. She said something about having spilled drink down her dress. She took the other side of the settee, so was alongside Mike. She pulled her legs up and leaned back. She was obviously still high on the drink, and her dressing gown was rather more open than it should have been. Mike couldn't take his eyes off. What is love? he considers now. Loving another means being willing to change those things within and without ourselves, to accept love over pain. For Her he was willing to change. Poetry was the smoke-filled air that made his chest ache, velvet were the sheets that could not house enough warmth on the chilled night but, somehow, were more than enough to make his arms slick with the slightest sheen of sweat. The girders that made him were not undone by Her but by his willingness to accept the. More

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