Page 88 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy
“This will be an excellent introductory experience,” said Aurienne. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.”
They left. Aurienne helped a nurse move a little girl onto a stretcher and ran after them.
She was snatched bodily out of the corridor and into a tiny, grimy toilet. A gloved hand over her mouth muffled her scream.
In the dimness of the toilet, Aurienne saw that it was Mordaunt. She lowered her tacn, which had been ready to press destructively to the nearest bit of flesh.
They were obscenely compressed together.
“Bit of a tighter squeeze than I thought,” said Mordaunt.
Aurienne agreed; she’d had less intimate mammograms. “What are you doing?”
“Here.” Mordaunt slipped her a sheaf of paper. “This’ll be of use to you.”
It was a list of addresses. “What are these?”
“More facilities like this one, I expect,” said Mordaunt. “Found them in the Agannor’s office. Have your Order investigate. I’ve got to go.”
“Wait—I haven’t thanked you for telling me about this place—”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“Why did you do it?”
“I felt bad for those kids.”
“You? Feltbad?”
“I’ve got to go.”
“But—”
Mordaunt bent down and kissed her on the lips.
He swept out of the door before she could react.
All very gallant, except that the door was already open, and Cath and Élodie were standing there.
“Ooh,” said Élodie.
“This was a private conversation,” said Mordaunt.
“One oughtn’t hold private conversations in a public toilet,” said Cath.
“Are you Tit Wank Man?” asked Élodie.
Aurienne wished for death.
“Who is Tit Wank Man?” Mordaunt turned to Aurienne in offence, as though he had just caught her in some morbid infidelity.
“It’s you,” said Aurienne.
“I think I’d know if I’d merited that nickname. Who are you?”
“Élodie,” said Élodie. “Virology.”
“Cath,” said Cath. “Trauma.”
