But I don’t care; I haven’t a spark of shame. She had gone into Morgan's one afternoon for a bag of salt. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. Having accomplished his intent, Gerald let the lad go and had himself driven back to Stratton Street. It was the last thing she felt like drinking. She cried out in pain, then in pleasure as he thrust himself into her. She loved her mother Marina more than any other thing in the world and could not bear to speak to her for a fortnight after being told her fate. Until two hours ago she was as contented and as happy as a linnet.
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