He looked at her coldly.
"These billet-doux were in your underwear drawer," he said, waving sheaves of letters.
Her face betrayed fear and embarrassment, but she wouldn't be steamrollered.
"You were rummaging through my knickers and bras. For the usual reason?"
"Checking up. A man should be able to trust his wife."
"You should know, I suppose, I'm your fourth."
"So who is he, this confidante?"
"Confidante? Billet-doux? Been working on your French? But to answer your question, he's someone I can share my secrets with."
"I still need to know something," he said.
"What?" Abrupt.
"What does dysfunctional mean?"
"These billet-doux were in your underwear drawer," he said, waving sheaves of letters.
Her face betrayed fear and embarrassment, but she wouldn't be steamrollered.
"You were rummaging through my knickers and bras. For the usual reason?"
"Checking up. A man should be able to trust his wife."
"You should know, I suppose, I'm your fourth."
"So who is he, this confidante?"
"Confidante? Billet-doux? Been working on your French? But to answer your question, he's someone I can share my secrets with."
"I still need to know something," he said.
"What?" Abrupt.
"What does dysfunctional mean?"
