” Brendon reappeared, followed by a tall thin man with a stubbly brown moustache and restless grey eyes. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally. Annabel is my only sister, you know, almost my only relative. A true nun. Young, not much older than she was: she was twenty and he was possibly twenty-four. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. She looked about and discovered a door partially hidden by shadow. Larry kept digging heartily into his spaghetti, not intrigued in the slightest. The darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled.
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