Sebastian's arms were about her, his fists pumping her stomach as she coughed forth saltwater from her belly and lungs. ‘That is good,’ she said with satisfaction, ‘for I was compelled on Saturday to abandon the chase. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. His physical body was predictably paralyzed with shyness and fear of rejection, barely soothed with a series 51 of blatantly direct requests and compliments. It was shameful, but again, her mother had prepared her for it. She studied her form in the full length mirror, assessed 69 her body as one would that of a prize calf, trying to see it through his eyes, through the eyes of desire. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. Very glad. He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers.
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