Maurice said. Kitty stared at him, dear and familiar, holding the carrier bag from the 2nd Avenue Deli – “The Best Chopped Liver in Town”. “…to Florida. As soon as you’re better. I’ve just come from the travel agent. I’ve put our names down for a cruise out from Miami, the sea air will do you good, then we’ll take a drive down to Key West.” “I haven’t the strength,” Kitty said. Maurice’s suggestion touched her but did not fill her with enthusiasm. The euphoria on the wave of which she had crossed the Atlantic had – helped by the obscenity of the blow to her skull – finally worn off. Apart from the aching and soreness of her head and the cuts and bruises which had transformed her body into a painful and uncomfortable mass, she wondered with a sinking sensation of alienation how she had come to be in this strange bed, surrounded by these strange women, in this strange place, in this foreign country, so many miles from home.
