‘Tell me something.’
Marion cups her ample breasts into her tea rose bra,
‘Tell me last night meant something to you.’
‘Last night meant something to me.’
‘Don’t be a child. You know what I mean. Why, I’ll wash your mouth out with soap and water!’
Marion behaves strangely, sheltering, weeks after her mother died. At nightfall, she leaves her bedsit and sleeps rough on the grass. Come dawn, she dusts herself down, shakes herself off, and starts all over again.
Marion is insane.