She doesn’t look at me much while she’s talking but there’s lots of casual touching, bumping her shoulder into mine and that sort of thing. It’s endearing, even if it’s a bit sad and transparent. ‘I don’t have much luck with guys,’ she says in tone of incantation. Her fingers graze upon the back of my hand, indelicate and openly hungry. ‘They’re never as nice as they seem.’ I tell her I’ve seen, ‘wolves dressed as sheep, your men,’ and lambs throwing themselves under the tooth, both prey and predation. ‘Do you want to eat?’ she says, ‘I’m starving.’

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