In response to an almost imperative gesture from the nurse, Anna laid her hand upon his. She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. “Ciao, Fragolina. She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. ’ ‘But you are bleeding like a pig,’ came the frantic response. Her hand grasped it firmly, and she pushed herself forward.
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