Fine snow fell white over lower Manhattan. The windows were covered with thick velvet drapes and gauze curtains, leaving only a slit through which one could see the pale scene on the street and the spires of nearby buildings.
The house had already begun heating the water pipes. Compared to the biting frost outside, the interior was warm as spring—even wearing only the lightest cashmere robe, one wouldn't feel cold.
Jenny finished washing her dirty hair, wrung it out, and wrapped it up. She slowly crawled back onto the bed, pressing her chest against his knee and resting her head on his thigh. Curiously, she looked at Zweit.
He was sitting against the headboard without a shirt, holding the latest issue of the weekly. He flipped to Jenny's column and read it word by word.
Bright candlelight filtered through the white bed curtains. The moment he read the first paragraph, he frowned—a reaction Jenny had anticipated.
Preview