‘Can I join you?’ I asked. She nodded. She couldn’t speak, but she pulled one of those reporter’s notebooks out of her handbag and put it on t...e table. She wrote on it and showed it to me. ‘Harry, want to talk about Bronwyn?’ ‘Yes, please, Gwen,’ I replied. She wrote again: ‘Can we move to the snug? I want to be more private.’ ‘Of course,’ I said. The snug is a small alcove off the public bar, originally fully partitioned to head height. Years ago it had been used for people who didn’t want to. And then, oh, the nerve of that guy ... the sleazy little prick has the nerve, the nerve! ... to walk up and ask me how I'm doing. Of course there are people all over the place, and I'm supposed to be a professional, so I can't just rip his balls off and stuff them down his throat. God, I just wanted to cut his heart out and grind it under my heel and say, 'That's how I am Brian; how does it feel to you?'" Is that how you feel," I asked. She started to respond, but I kept going. "Or is that how. More

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