“Very well,” she would say, “then I must go. She awoke at 11:12 am, her foster sister snoring in the bed across the room. Drummond, who had been about to speak, refrained. Her senses were prickled when she felt a new pair of eyes upon her. Lucy grabbed his shirtsleeve, whispering on tiptoe. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. And will you look! His name neatly cut out from each title page. He looked at it eagerly, but made no movement to take it. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. Eventually her movements carried her to the little stand at the side of the bed.
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