When the paroxysm passed, he was forced to lean against the window-jamb for support. Shari was snoring soundly. He was very aware of her placing his penis between her legs. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. “You must not think of me as one. ” He unfolded his serviette with fingers which shook all the time. The Disguise 261 VI.
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