He dreamed of women, of the physical subterrain. 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. A whole half-the-world was women. His is not even a personal grievance but something larger, a reaching toward everywhere for everyone in the situation.
He was certain, almost certain, Glasseye was in it too.
