Linda had been beautiful once. Now she was middle-aged, now she was grey-haired, now she was growing wrinkles shaped by the sneers and frowns she had worn all her life. But she was beautiful once, ice-blue eyes and black hair and slim body and most of all a face that lied. It was a face that looked sweet, and warm, and kind, even though she had none of these qualities. The truth emerged in the end, though, and her face grew to match what she was inside. It was ugly, and Linda was alone.
When she was young, she had dated men, slept with them, and accepted gifts from them until she grew tired of them, and then she found new ones to replace the worn out models. Her rages were legendary,…