It was an easy one to smell early on, Sebastian had taught her: anything reproductive. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. And though I say it that shouldn't say it, no man can tie a better knot. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. No, I thank you. Without a word, without a sign, Enschede started toward the beach, where his proa waited.
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