She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. It was apparent, and then it faded into the quality of an inevitable necessity. ’ He scratched his chin as if he thought about it, but covertly kept a careful study of what he could see of her face. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. Her belly was being touched, she felt her thighs caressed softly. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. “I thought much of it amazingly beautiful.
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