I have been dreaming of your body and you night after night. He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. She was furiously angry. She was chic, distinguished, unusual. We are in love. Ennison roused himself with an effort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda, and lit a cigarette. It was horrible, but she must do it. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force.
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