On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. I was the last on board. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. No one. “I am in love with you. How I envied Gianfrancesco on his wedding night, how I writhed in agony just thinking 171 about his intimacies with you! Then you became pregnant, and there he was, posturing and gloating like the rest of the family, my divinations of a boy in your womb pronounced. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey.
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