She recoiled. “You are coming right out into life—facing it all. But I liked to say it. Her eyes travelled about the room as if in appeal to the very chairs. Mrs Sindlesham’s wrinkled cheek had paled, and her eyes were fixed upon Gerald in a look that wrung his heart. He was staring at her, openly gaping. "To-night, your ladyship?" ventured an elderly domestic. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts.
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