But oh, how weary I am! I know. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. He regarded that perennial miracle of pinning with wrathful eyes. She was feeling extraordinarily well that night, so that the sense of her body was a deep delight, a realization of a gentle warmth and strength and elastic firmness. She moaned as his lips caressed her neck, almost to where the dress met her shoulder. It made me wake up, and there I lay thinking of you, spending your nights up here all alone, and no one to look after you.
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