He tried to forget what she had said, but could not. They spoke rarely on the phone by this time, only to set up meetings, and when she called to can...el. They emailed more than they called, and that was just for news, to keep in touch. Sometimes he cancelled too. He grew to dread their meetings as much as crave them, fearful of what she might say, of what new coldness he would sense around her. They could not talk as they once had. That secret, silent channel they had shared, where words. "They got the Guildhall, the bastards," said a fireman tinkering with ahydrant and a hose. "Just the walls left." Aye, and some bombs in the Dockyard. Victory's OK, and Brickwoods isstill brewin', so all's right in the world!" replied his companion,cheerily.Some drunks had left the pavement splattered with vomit, and Martinstepped to avoid it. He was on a mission, and instead of turning intothe Dockyard gate, he turned left on The Hard. He was on his way to thetattoo parlour under the brick. More

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