Anna turned deliberately away from the bedside. Ann Veronica’s tense nerves started, and she stood still with her eyes upon him, wondering what it might be that impended. She had no idea what she should do. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. You were content, and I came to thrive on your happiness. "Do you know what you make me think of?" "What?" "As if you had stepped out of some old family album. This last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time he was obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers.
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