The priest has fled, and the village is strangely silent, no sound of good wives gossiping at their doors, or the happy laughter of children playing. ... awoke two days ago to find my dear wife dead on the floor, lying in a pool of her own vomit and blood. The stench was terrible. I am still very weak, but I managed to crawl to the hearth, and filled my belly with cold potage and mouldy bread. I do not have the strength to bury my wife, so I covered her body with a blanket, and said a prayer for. The whole thing had the feeling of a Roman Bath; sensual and indulgent. She poured rose scented soap into the water; it frothed into a mountain of bubbles. As the tub filled, she began to undress, letting the cares of the day drop away with her clothes. She shook out her hair, long, red, and curly. It was her favorite feature. When she was a girl, she had longed for the straight blonde hair her friends had, but now, she loved her mane; it made her feel sexy and powerful, and magical, like an. More

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