Her lover surely did not 223 understand the implications of what he had asked for and his lust blinded him to the realities of existence even now. It was a letter. I found him lying like this, the bleeding partly stopped by this scarf, else he had been dead by now. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. “And where are YOU going?” he said. “Hill gradually recovering consciousness. Were it not for your voice, I don't think I should know you. A shy virgin bride would not press her thigh sinuously against his, nor consent indeed to this clandestine little comedy he had been playing.
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