The wedding has been arranged; a date fixed. She has been pushing round in her mind, for a few days now, several wedding thoughts. He will be her lover for the rest of her days, probably. It's what she wants at the moment and you don't normally change your mind about that sort of thing do you. One thought, wedding-related, bobs continuously to the surface - she is curious about his best friend. It's curiosity about his success with women in the bedroom, of course. She's fascinated that many of her friends have gone to his room so eagerly. Ah! her fiancé is fun and she is quite satisfied, but even he has told her about his best friend; some quite surprising stories; the two of them had curled up together talking about his exploits, and giggled in one another's face. He shouldn't have told her about the friend anyway. If she does anything, it's his fault in a way. She stops. She dips down a side-street, tongue clenched between her teeth, and goes to find this friend's room. She fairly leaps across the gutters.
The best friend, tucking her under his arm, like a plank of wood, carries her down his corridor and through his bedroom-door, which he closes behind him. A day later she comes out. Pausing outside the closed door, she shuts her eyes for a moment and hugs herself until both hands meet at the centre of her back. Then she trots off to meet her church appointment.
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