‘Ah, non,’ exclaimed the husband. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. She reeled in excitement, she unzipped his pants while kissing him, trying not to let herself stop touching him as she unclothed him. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. He was human.
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