He munched his popcorn steadily, periodically offering it to her, but not his Coke, as that would be too bold, a saliva exchange. "All right," he said. “Want to see the upstairs?” “Sure. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. . “Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again. That is why you came here, isn’t it?’ ‘Alors, now we know who is the spy, Monsieur Gérard. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me.
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