There was more to the world than an out-of-the-way cottage he had hired, a farmer's daughter to bring them a basket of food every day through the snow, and the two of them naked and drowsing away the days in bed. "I'm bored," she said, standing by the window and looking out at the blank whiteness, renewed by a storm last night. It made her feel trapped. She was restless with too much perfection. "I am not enough for you? My heart is broken." He flung a forearm up dramatically to cover his eyes, and sprawled limp on the bed. "I am not used to being so idle." "Wait longer. You'll grow accustomed." "I thought you said you'd become industrious and diligent, these days?" "The sybarite still lurks under the surface, at the ready," he said. "On the surface, more like.” "I don't deny it. So how shall I entertain you?" "You are right. You're not enough for me." Flawless days of him, nothing but him, and she felt herself slipping away from every anchor to reality.
