They did not writhe in ecstasy underneath a thrusting male, not their husband, begging, "Drive your fleshy bayonet deeper into my receptive dell," as ...usannah later did of me.But I run ahead of myself.As we continued walking along the path by the beck, Susannah asked. "Tell me, John, how are the fashionable ladies of London wearing their hair this year?" I confessed I had not been to London, and that the last place of any size that I had been was Bordeaux."Well, how did the ladies of Bordeaux. For that, I will always be grateful to him. But I made it; I’m home. Now, I don’t need him anymore. In the bathroom, just off our beautiful bedroom, so unchanged from the day I left it, there is peroxide and hair dye among my dusty possessions. Silently, impassively, I bleach my hair from root to tip, shocking my jet black tresses until I barely recognise the ashen blonde staring back at me from the mirror. When I am satisfied, I carelessly work the neat red dye in, watching bloody runnels fall. More

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