He dreamed of women, of the physical apparatus. Her (no her her, just Her) lying on a bed on her side, knees tucked, the nothingness revealed, soft tissue with the inconceivable absence there.

With slow trainlike approach it strikes him as a crime beyond belief for a man to come home and not find such waiting for him. It is not even a personal grievance but something larger, a reaching toward somewhere for everyone in the situation.

He was certain, almost certain, Glasseye was in it too.