“Close your eyes. She stood among them, watching them and feeling curiously alien to them. No amount of scrubbing could remove the stains, the blood of an unknown man she had stolen from the scene of a car accident, a stupid drunk with no license who had wrapped his Chevy truck around a very large oak tree. We are the species, and maternity is our game; that’s all right, but nobody wants that admitted for fear we should all catch fire, and set about fulfilling the purpose of our beings without waiting for further explanations. “Glaciers?” she said. E. "Not materially, Mr. ‘You are Mrs Ibstock, I think,’ she said eagerly.
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