Softer, elegiac almost. Her voice had dropped to awhisper so that David could scarce hear her words."If you know any more what success and failure are...for you."And so he sat there. Trying not to think. Trying not to dwell onthe path that he had chosen for himself. And to where it would,inevitably seemingly, lead.He turned on the TV and found the channels were limited to anin-house programme of fashion, beauty, female interests in general.The CDs and DVDs were the same. The pile of magazines was. And she: 38 yrs old, was nearly naked, dressed in only panties and heels like a common slut.“Yes,” she thought, “Slut is the term, a very good one.”He broke into her thoughts and was smiling as though he knew what she was thinking. “Like the term slut, don’t you?”“Yes, I fell like such a slut here,” she said in a low voice, “you know, ... uh ... sitting here just in panties and heels with you all dressed. It’s ... ah ... so dirty; it feels so dirty,” she looked up at him, “just like all of the. More

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