Their faces had bite marks that were hers. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. Then, mysteriously, he no longer smelled or tasted it. She barely heard a word that Martin or Brown said, until Martin’s voice chimed. “What on earth did you expect me to do, then?” he asked. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. “I’ll ruin your suit. ” And to that, through vast rhetorical meanderings, she clung. “So, just how many foster homes were you in before the coming to live here?” “You don’t want to hear about all of that, Michelle.
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