Wood in the deepest mourning. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. The crowning aspect of the incident, for her mind, was the discovery that he and her indiscretion with him no longer mattered very much. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. Voilà tout. ‘Yes, miss. ‘Who has begun this but you?’ Gerald barely heard her. The eyes, too, though large and bright, and shaded by long lashes, seemed to betoken, as hazel eyes generally do in men, a faithless and uncertain disposition. ” She whispered as she pulled his 279 erection free of the elastic. “I remember you now,” he said. Why should God give particular attention to such a prayer, when He had ignored all others? Certainly there was a trap somewhere.
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