“Look at our clothes,” she exclaimed, “and besides, the funny little proprietor has gone down himself to help it along. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. “Why on earth,” he asked, “did you hurt me like that?” Ann Veronica did her best to think she had not deliberately attempted to cause him pain. His legs were fine and strong, he told her that he had been a warrior in ancient times, to which she snorted in disgust. I should think, Anna, that your own sense—er—of propriety would enable you to see this. She was feeling extraordinarily well that night, so that the sense of her body was a deep delight, a realization of a gentle warmth and strength and elastic firmness. "But you are a good man, and you'll understand.
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