Peculiarly, almost every single one of the students had dark circles under their eyes. And—“Heather?” I said. Heather was a nondescript, mousy...girl from my French Revolution class, and she also happened to live on the second floor. She coordinated informal study groups for that class, and, I heard, all of her classes. She looked tired, but not unusually so.“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I said. “What’s going on?”“It’s my roommate,” she said. “Amanda has been looking really bad since. But of course, when Mark belonged to her again, she would control his lechery and keep it all for herself, with the blonde bitch Desirée in the ground in some unknown spot out in the hills, while her dashing husband thought she had run off with another man. By the time everyone had begun to see through that falsehood, the trail would have gone long cold and they would not dig up her bones until a hundred years from now when Priscilla's and Mark's own great-grandchildren decided to build. More

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