I topped up her glass and I had a third glass. Michelle ate all the steak and I offered her the off cut. ‘I shouldn’t, but that is so delicious, s... yes please and is there any more of that wonderful gravy?’ Dog would have to make do with his biscuits dry. I served the second helping and offered more vegetables. Michelle declined, so I emptied them and the remaining sauce on my own plate. Michelle had soon eaten the meat and excused herself. ‘I am a little cold. Still tired I guess.’ She sat. As she drew closer, the feeling of dread grew. Why was she so immaculate? Why was she so clean? There was not a spot on her, not a single fleck of semen, not a hair out of place -- at least, as far as I could tell, since her head was hidden under a shroud. A fucking shroud?? What was this, the sixteenth century? Who wears a shroud to a wedding? And why was no-one getting up to use her? Why was she allowed to walk towards the altar completely unspoiled? It wasn't respect for the sanctity of. More

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