“You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my husband has upset me. The chair was torture. I can't keep a good man beyond three pay-days. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head. 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. It was no wonder Gianfrancesco had looked up to Sebastian so, the doctor’s nature radiated masterfulness and dominance.
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