It was Helen and George who finally moved me into the master bedroom that had been Mr. Thrower’s. They were comfortable in their room and it was nea...ly identical, anyway. That, of course, was the room that Dori now has. The house, the estate, had been Mr. Thrower. Even in his illness, the place was him. Without him, it seemed without the character it once had. It took us months, if not longer, to be convinced that that character could still be alive if we maintained it in attitude and devotion. She can tell by the look in Mint’s eye that he means her no harm. When he’d first entered, however, she hadn’t been so sure. ‘Take your eyes off my shit,’ Mint says when he catches her looking at the worn leather bag at his feet. He has a smirk on his lips and he makes a show of raking his eyes from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, pausing at all the juicy parts. ‘Fuck you Mint,’ Mira says after a charged moment of silence passes between them. She thinks of the bag in her own. More

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