Six endless minutes later he lay gasping in a nest of sheets. She sidled off to the bathroom, her hairdo smashed and her collarbones flushed. He heard her turning on the bidet, then every faucet in the room—the shower, the tub, the white sink, the black sink. Greta was experimenting, running all the local equipment. He lay there breathing deeply and felt weirdly gratified, like a small yet brilliant child who had snatched candy from under a door with a yardstick.