There was a lapse of time, an interval of blackness; then he found his hand in hers and she was leading him at a run up the side of the mountain. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. The shock and distress were genuine. She responded as he slipped his hands under her sweater. She had never seen her sitting on tables nor heard her discussing theology, and had failed to observe that the graceful figure was a natural one and not due to ably chosen stays. I have been dreaming of your body and you night after night.
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