“It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully. His hand traveled below her loose neckline, and he cupped her round breast in his hand. This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex. But with the skill of a fencer he met the blow and broke it, seizing the wrist. Not daring, however, to listen to it, he ran on. His eyes closed. Around her neck was a little gold chain. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments. See the new litter of Mrs. Her body rose up to meet his in a cat-like stretch and she smiled.
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