Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup. “Dear friend,” she said, “this is a matter which you must leave to me to do as I think best. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. ‘You dare to come to me? What do you wish of me? Why have you come? I do not want you!’ She swept round on Gerald abruptly and he braced for the onslaught. She orgasmed quickly, then was thrilled to feel it happen again twice more as he slowed his pace. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. "Let me go," cried Winifred.
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