Bob Munroe woke up on his face. He had rolled over in the night and now his arms were pinned beneath him. They were numb and rubbery and, in that dark, cloudy time between sleep and waking, Bob wondered if someone hadn't come along and stolen his arms in the night.

When Jane left me for Barry Kramer, it was a dark and heavy sort of hurt, but she had not been happy in our house anyway, and I felt that there was little to be done.