She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. Annabel had been here then. An uncomfortable silence followed. Every so often a wall of water, thin and jadecoloured, would rise up over the port bow, hesitate, and fall smacking amidships. Her specialty is the central thing in life, it is life itself, the warmth of life, sex—and love. And, snatching the spike from Thames, he struck the janizary a severe blow on the head. How to hold her, how to keep her at his side; this was the problem with which he struggled.
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