The Broken Window [antikvár]

Chapter Something nagged, yet she couldn't quite figure out what. Like a faint recurring ache somewhere in your body. Or a man on the Street behind you as you near your apartment . . . Was he the same one who'd been glancing at you on the subway? Or a dark dot moving toward your bed but now vanished. A black widow spider? But then her visitor, sitting on her living room couch, glanced at her and smiled and Alice Sanderson forgot the concern - if concern it was. Arthur had a good mind and a solid body, sure. But he had a great smile, which counted for a lot more. 'How 'bout somé wine?' she asked, walking into her small kitchen. 'Sure. Whatever you Ve got.' 'So, this's pretty fun - playing hooky on a weekday. Two grown adults. I like it.' 'Born to be wild,' he joked. Outside the window, across the street, were rows of painted and natural brownstones. They could alsó see part of the Manhattan skyline, hazy on this pleasant spring weekday.