It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. Wild's orders. They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had. “We have no airs and graces here, and my hat hangs from a peg in the passage. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. "You want me, then?" she said. I consider even now that the present colour is far less becoming. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes.
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