We are nuns. She padded up the stairs to the bedroom, finding that her sheets had been changed with a fresh pillow case to welcome her weary head. The young man was mollified by her sympathy, and flattered by the obvious attempts of several of the other guests to draw him into conversation. She spied him sitting on his armless black couch, his feet splayed as he stared at his television blankly. She could feel his breath on her skin, every hair on her arms and neck raised in response. Ah Coom. "Ruth?" "Hoddy!" she cried. “You’re. Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe.
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