“I mean to go to prison directly the session is over,” said Miss Klegg. “How are you?” He asked, realizing she was unnerved by the very sound of his voice. ‘I—I mean, she were—’ ‘Pretty as a picture?’ suggested Gerald. He grew more ardent, sliding her breasts out of the strapless bodice of her gown. He mumbled an apology and then stopped short. The air was sweet with the perfume of flowers, and the melody of murmuring insects, the blue sky was cloudless, the heat of the sun was tempered by the heather-scented west wind. 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. Miss Stanley hesitated, and took first one and then another of the constituents of this costume off its peg and surveyed it. "But if my career were truly exhibited, it must be as one long struggle against destiny in the shape of—" "Jonathan Wild," interposed Gay.
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