You're in luck to-night, widow. ‘By traitors I am surrounded!’ ‘Stop talking utter twaddle,’ ordered Roding, marching up to the desk. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. She wished that he would go further as she performed fellatio upon him. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. He walked through a wide open archway, curtained with deep-blue curtains, into the apartment that served as a reception-room. During the week, her uniform was the blue and white scrubs of a nurse, the job she had suffered at for twenty-seven years. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things.
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