The proper thing, of course, would be to confess David and her children to Michael and insist that he never call again. She would dismiss the previous evening as a simple moment of insanity and forget Michael Delamar entirely. Propriety meant a life in the greening kitchen, days of unceasing dirty laundry and hamburger casseroles, and nights of Davidas clumsy and passionless love. He would never know what she had hoped would occur, and they would continue on the inevitable path to conjugal senility, eventually to be buried side by side with a joint headstone, bearing next to her name the tribute aloving wifeaa].a