A Multitude of Sins Read Online Free PDF

not a circle of affection?
    “It really seems so hopeless, doesn’t it?” She laughed, too loud.
    “Maybe no one could … ” He started to say something extremely banal but stopped. He shook his head “no.” It made her smile. Her face was softened, so appealing even in the blasted air, her lips slightly bruised. She took his hand, which he found to be trembling. Again, the vigor of lovemaking, he thought. He had an urge, a strong one just then, to tell her he loved her—here on the street. But by stoppingmidsentence he once again curtailed revealing himself. She preferred that. A pledge of love was inappropriate, even if he’d felt it.
    He wished, though, that his hands wouldn’t tremble, since now was the best time, the moment after making love, when everything seemed possible, easy, when they could surprise each other with a look, change almost anything with an offhand remark. It had nothing to do with revealing yourself.
    “When you leave Chicago, where’re you going?” Jena said. She took his arm as she had the first night, and they stepped out into Michigan Avenue at the light. The air was colder in the wide street. A group of young nuns hurried past, bound for The Drake in their bright blue habits. They were laughing about the cold. Jena smiled at them.
    “London,” Wales said, the wind biting in under his collar. He’d been thinking about London again, about his widowed friend in Oxford. He preferred returning to Europe through England. The easy entry.
    “Do you still keep your flat in Berlin?” She was just talking still, not paying attention, light-headed after being with him. They were on the street in Chicago, in winter, going for supper late. Saying “keep your flat” must feel good. He’d felt that way. It was like saying, “We live in the Sixth.” Or, “It’s just off the King’s Road.” Or, “We took rooms behind the Prado.” Simple, harmless things.
    “Yes. It’s in Uhlandstrasse,” he said.
    “Is that in the East?”
    “No. It’s in the rich quarter. Near the Zoo and the Paris Bar. Kudamm. Savignyplatz.” She didn’t know what these words meant, which was fine. She could hear them.
    They were in sight of her restaurant. People were walking out the door, struggling into overcoats. Off the Avenue, the wind suddenly vanished, making the air feel almost spring-like. They passed the windows of a large, radiantly lit bookstore. People were having coffee and talking at high, round tables. All those books, Wales thought. It would be nice—he could suddenly feel it—to ride the train in from Gatwick, tohave a morning to himself, read a book. There was a pure thought.
    “If I asked you something important,” Jena said, “would you not be shocked?” She held his arm, but slowed on the sidewalk, still beside the bookstore.
    “I’d try not to be,” Wales said, and looked at her with affection. This was not like her, to make a plea. But it was good. New.
    “If I asked you to kill my husband, would you do it?” Jena looked up at him and blinked. Her hazel eyes were wide, swimming but dry. Two dark discs in white that seemed to grow larger. Her face was intent on him. “For me? If I’d love you? If I’d go away with you? At least for a while?”
    Wales thought for just that instant about how they looked. A handsome, tall man dressed in a heavy camel hair coat. Hatless, with gray in his hair. Highly shined black shoes from Germany. And Jena, in a sable parka and wool trousers, expensive, heavy gloves. Expensive boots. They looked good together, even on the cold street. They made a pair. They could be in love.
    “No, I guess I wouldn’t,” Wales said.
    Jena turned and looked quickly back at the Avenue, where a driver had slammed on brakes and skidded over the frozen pavement. Two policemen in a white and blue cruiser waited at the curb, watching the car as it stopped sideways in the middle of the intersection. Perhaps she felt someone was following her. “We’re doing