‘What mischief?’ ‘I don’t know, but I’ll go bail you’re at something. It runs about gayly, it romps, it is bright and pretty, it has enormous quantities of soft hair and more power of expressing affection than its brothers. But always this new phase in life which civilization called convention threw up barrier after barrier. “It was inevitable,” he declared. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. But she had loved the man. ‘Still, the comtesse has them well in hand. She was too wrapped up in the sheer joy of playing again; it had 201 been intimate, masturbatory. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. You must forgive the poet’s license I take.
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