شب هفتم

NIGHT SEVEN

I TELL MYSELF that I won’t look, but as soon as the first ping sounds I’m at the window. Olly is wearing a black bathrobe with an oversized silver cross around his neck. He’s performing last rites on the Bundt.

Finally I cannot help it. I laugh and laugh and laugh. He looks up and grins back. He takes a black marker from his pocket and writes on the window.

Sorry about the other night.

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