She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh. She blushed prettily, and in a moment regained command of her tongue. She was too wrapped up in the sheer joy of playing again; it had 201 been intimate, masturbatory. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. Presently McClintock came in. Like a river swollen by many currents, it gathered force from the various avenues that poured their streams into it. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive.
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