His eyes were narrow with desire like a panther’s as he grinned at seeing her visibly satisfied. “My Mom makes more money than my Dad, a lot more. A familiar ache of wanting made itself more insistent in her belly. Do sit down, dear boy. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application.
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