Her belly was being touched, she felt her thighs caressed softly. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. It was just a shabby, stupid, furtive business that began between us. ‘I’ll handle her better alone. ‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. Narrow little beady brown eyes, and she’s got big eyebrows like dead caterpillars. He dissected rather awkwardly and hurriedly, but, on the whole, effectively, and drew with an impatient directness that made up in significance what it lacked in precision.
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