It seemed at first the most beautiful afternoon of all time to her, and perhaps the thrill of her excitement did add a distinctive and culminating keenness to the day. ‘Oh, my God, Melusine, what have I done?’ Melusine shook her head. He groped her buttocks. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support.
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