Thome’s happiness at being far removed from his father, from the boredom, the feeling of being insufficient, was only minimally tarnished by the inconvenience of a few laborers. Cleaning, washing socks, rolling up socks. Thome imagined for a moment sinking for various reasons into poverty and having to do all those daily human chores. Grocery shopping. Standing in line. Cooking things, making the bed. Thome had no idea how other people—they were people, after all—managed it. All those tedious, time-consuming activities whose only aim was to keep the human organism alive. Buying toilet paper was clear evidence of having defecated. He had never seen a single one of his relatives or acquaintances buying toilet paper. The toilet was never mentioned; it was invisible and silent. Except for sexual uses. He knew of neighbors who had installed a glass toilet in their bedroom to be able to watch the stool leave their partner’s bodies. Turned them on. Thome knew he had nothing in common with other “people.” This wasn’t meant to be arrogant, it was just a fact. He had tried now and then to engage people in conversation. But he didn’t understand what they were talking about. Raf stopped snoring. Who the fuck was Raf? Thome shared his room with a young man who was related to somebody from the royal family. But, really, who wasn’t? With little effort Thome could easily establish ten provisional connections to major royal houses via his family tree. Some promiscuous great-grandfather had found his way into family trees all over the place. Back to Raf.

Whose hair fell over his only minimally degenerate, aristocratic face. Thome resisted the impulse to tousle it. He was British. Meaning you didn’t tousle, you engaged in conversation. That had to suffice as foreplay. Raf started snoring again. It had been a late one yesterday. The Pakistani drug dealer had invited Raf, Thome, and two other smug idiots from the Cambridge Rowing Club to go to Rochdale to have sex with very young girls. None of the young men had ever been with prostitutes before, and as a result they enthusiastically accepted the invitation straightaway. Anything dirty was alluring, you wanted to be part of it.

An odd calm had held sway during the drive to Rochdale. The young men felt uneasy. Not because they were on their way to stick their genitalia into people who were presumably none too excited about it. None of the young men thought of a prostitute as a human being, because along with the fact that they were women, they would also be those people. The young men couldn’t be blamed for the fact that they deemed unimportant any life form born outside the ruling class. One must factor in tradition, education, and people’s propensity to place themselves above others, and one must be charitable in the assessment of their state of mind and character.

So.