They slow danced to a Bon Jovi ballad. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Very slowly emerging out of a phase of stupefaction, these personal affairs and her personal problem resumed possession of her mind. Brendon was silent. Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. "This suspense is worse than torture. You can purchase the information from me whenever you're so disposed. "You'll lose no time," said the thief-taker. “Dear me!” he said. Do not remain with me.
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