His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. Oh, God!” Rhea sniffed the air through two gaping nostrils that had eroded through her onion skin flesh. As a net result she had come to think of all married people much as one thinks of insects that have lost their wings, and of her sisters as new hatched creatures who had scarcely for a moment had wings. “You, too,” he said abruptly. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation. Spurlock—for that's his real name—were married at high noon. His first reaction had been explosive as the hurts of the past rose up to taunt him. It was from Brendon.
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