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She felt conscious of her nipples becoming visibly erect under the tight t-shirt and wished that she owned a thicker brassiere. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. "Kidnapped, and sent to France by one uncle, it was my lot to fall into the hands of another,—my father's own brother, the Marshal Gaucher de Chatillon; to whom, and to the Cardinal Dubois, I owed all my good fortune. But here was new music, tender and kindly and whimsical, that first roved to and fro in the mind and then cuddled up in the heart.
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