There was something mystical about his young bride Josephine: She always knew what brought him joy.

She seemed to anticipate when he was horny, cuddling with him almost before he himself felt aroused. She had a sixth sense about everything; she would be melancholy about a friend or relative — who would be diagnosed with a quickly advancing terminal disease weeks later.

Her visions and moods were preceded by a lack of appetite or staring out a window for hours, by the need to play a sonata on the harpsichord, her eyes cast down at her long, pale fingers. In her sex life with Edgar, Josephine’s erotic desires were mirrored in the color of her panties. It took him a while to understand what at first seemed to be “coincidences,” mere household events, not a code.

In fact, it was... Read More