Worries about her soul surrendered to worries about money. It was the way she always thought about it. The fight hadn’t been a fair one. Poverty was a spectacle everyone could see, an advertisement for a failed life. The condition of her soul was as private as her smile under her hand. Her soul resisted. But soon she was buying expensive things, living an easier life. For once, for a change. Sometimes she hated herself, but she was too weak, too tired, to go back. Her soul was a lousy debater, a lousy salesman. His soul was different. It was righteous, intact. It had better excuses. She tried to hide inside it. She descended deeper into her part, into part of his life. She’d once thought that there wasn’t a lot of him in his home but now, she could see him everywhere. In every piece of fur
