Of course there are, millions of them. We already had a place to mislay blame. To divide the agony into two spheres so that one would mitigate the other. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. He had conveyed it to her, not verbally, but by means of a letter, which seemed to her a singularly ignoble method of prohibition. She replied softly. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. “Was that before or after you became a vampire?” Michelle questioned her casually, as if it were an interview. I found it on the beach, just sitting there nestled inside a piece of driftwood. Nothing seemed to be amiss. ‘Maman?’ ‘How touching,’ said a sarcastic voice behind her in French. You were probably robbed in Hong-Kong.
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