There's this character in Bellefleur who is the mistress of one of the Bellefleur men. I forget her name, but she had red hair and sounded fleshy and wonderful like an apple. Anyway, she razored her hair so that she could look like a gypsy. She sounds like she strutted. I liked her a lot. I was thrilled that she razored her hair like me.

There have been a number of occasions in literature which have made me requestion and reevaluate my feelings on infidelity. One was Bellefleur. I didn't feel so indignant about this man having a mistress as I did about his brother, who made a woman strip in a backroad to see if he liked her. Another was a really creepy, evocative short story by a Welsh woman. It's centered around a woman waiting in a museum to meet her husband, and she is pondering a skeleton of a woman with her skull bashed in. It's about the punishment adulterous women receive.

And again he stooped down, and wrote on the ground.

2003-05-03, go, and sin no more.

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