Deep Down

It was surprisingly low cut.  Eye-wateringly low cut, actually: it plunged fathoms.  And she wore an exquisitely lacy bra, lavishly coloured in contrast to her black blouse.  It was difficult not to notice.  "I've had an awful night," she confided, "He doesn't love me."  I looked at her and her red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks and her pale sleep-deprived skin.  "I wore this top so that no-one would see my face."