But what good would that do? He would either admit or deny, or if he had any inkling, confront me in return. If he confessed and promised not to screw...around any more, I would have to do the same thing. I knew it was a promise I could never keep, but still, I hate it when my conscience rears its ugly head into my thoughts. Granny slowed me down."Remember, Melissa, revenge is a dish best served cold." Oh, cute, Granny, but right now is when I want to kill him." Relax, dear, we'll think of. "Ah, good."Is just one finger that you touch to me, like the finger tracing curvesalong my side? ."No," you whisper. "No, two. But close, so close you feel just one. Aquestion of an inch, not even two. Trivial things, these inches-or-two,you see. Illusory things, these touches."No, not illusion, for I feel."Not illusion, no," you say. "But not quite everything. The net ofnerves aren't woven tight enough just here, where I touch, for you tofeel the two. You need a finer-woven web of feeling, of. More

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