The low ceiling made him seem abnormally tall. “So I see that you have become content with your hardscrabble existence, your week-to-week survival, your Martin Chen!” “Who?” “Your limp-wristed lover!” “Um. A single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it. ” He paused with a sense of ineptitude. Anything. He was conscious of a quickening of his heartbeat and the familiar rise of adrenalin that sent his senses soaring in anticipation. ’ ‘No, sister, I know that, but—’ ‘You needn’t tell me. She opened one and found herself in a large untidy room set with chairs that were a little disarranged as if by an overnight meeting. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels.
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