Chapter 32 Without Her

• Her naked... This was something that did me absolutely no good to think about, yet I'd spent many hours doing it. And, if I reasoned why, was the basis for everything that'd happened with us. Her naked... That photograph Tom Bennett sent to me was the same one I bought at the show. From a pragmatic view it was just a picture of a beautiful naked body anyone would appreciate, male or female. But even with the little he told me in the beginning, paired with that picture of her in all its vulnerability, allure and stark beauty, the thought she could be in danger or that someone would purposefully hurt her galvanized me to go out to the street and get her safely into my car. I just couldn't walk away from her and keep my conscience intact. And once we'd met my mind went mad with fantasies. All I could see in my head while we talked was... her naked,
• My bath started losing its heat after an hour and, understandably, its appeal. So I got out, and dressed and went in search of the book. Letters of John Keats to Fanny Brawne.
• Something Dad mentioned reminded me of it. He'd said my mother loved reading the great poets. I knew Brynne loved Keats. I'd found the book on the sofa, where she'd obviously been reading, and asked her about it. Brynne had confessed her love for him and wanted to know why I even had the book in my house. I told her that my dad was always giving me books that people left be- hind in his cab. He hated to toss them out, so he would bring them home whenever he acquired anything decent. When I'd bought my flat, he'd hauled over a few boxes of books to fill the shelves, and it must have been in the lot. I truthfully told her I'd never read any Keats.