Thieves

She hunched down, resting upon her folded arms, and she stared at him. ‘I think you were in prison.’

‘Well,’ he said. 

‘I’m right aren’t I?’ She must have seen the reaction in his eyes.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’re right.’ 

She seemed to expect him to congratulate her, or at least acknowledge the way she had caught him out. Instead, he only picked up his empty cup again, staring at the grains of coffee against the white china. When she spoke again, her voice was only slightly less insistent. 

‘So what did you do? Can I ask that? Did you kill someone?’

‘I didn’t kill anyone.’

‘Was it anything…’

‘Sexual? No.’

‘Did you steal?’

‘In a way. Yes. I stole something.’

‘So you’re a thief?’

‘I’m a thief. I suppose that’s it.’

‘A thief then. Well, that’s all right. I don’t mind that.’ She sat back in her seat. ‘One way or another, all of us are thieves.’ 

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