Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. “You haven’t seen him in three hundred years?” He asked. With thinly veiled glee, Michelle described a rumor she had heard about John at a recent party. Always as black and bitter as gall. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. She had paid her bill, and she had enough left in her purse to pay many such. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still.
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