It wasn’t so much women as Woman that engaged his mind. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. ‘I have said it is not stolen,’ snapped Melusine indignantly. There sprang from that a vague hope that perhaps she might extort a capitulation from her father by a threat to seek that position, and then with overwhelming clearness it came to her that whatever happened she would never be able to tell her father about her debt. He fondled her naked breasts with his fingers, then his mouth. Mr. Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. I’m a little tired.
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