Poor Correspondent

Thea looked away. "I haven't written."

"I know. Why not?"

She breathed out a big wreath of smoke and watched it curl around the light fixtures. "For all sorts of bad reasons, Boris. Denial. Fear. Anger."

Urquhart fingered the envelope. "She loves you."

Thea glared at him. "I know that. Shut up." They passed into a momentary sour silence. "How about you?"

"I'm all right. I miss her terribly."

She gave him a most penetrating look. "Poor Boris."