Gerald tried it. The bed-and table-linen were of the finest texture. So I dare say I was christened Jack. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. The winter had turned sea and sky to a wet gray. Ann Veronica, after a last survey of the dinner appointments, followed him, rustling, came to his side by the high brass fender, and touched two or three ornaments on the mantel above the cheerful fireplace. Here we are. He stopped short of a group of adolescent saplings and turned the ignition off.
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