It must have been at a café in Paris. He was a snob, of course, but not her, not in the least, and it was usually he who chose the location. They had a long standing agreement, however unspoken, that whatever tricks he may have had up his sleeve, he would never lie. His honesty was painful at times and could make what she thought of as the normal patterns of an affair quite difficult to achieve in her eyes, but it was something that she had never encountered before and it hypnotized her. So though it was his silent dictate, she had entered into it willingly, almost ceremonially, after hanging up that time when she had furiously but unsuccessfully debated against the virtues of unvarnished truth.
