Tied up a lot of women, have you?" He raised one eyebrow, whatever that meant. "A bit odd, are you?" She was being sarcastic, trying to taunt him into a sense of guilt. While perhaps bursting any bubble in herself of misguided, soft-hearted concern for a man with sad eyes and complicated wealth. Though his sexual inclinations were perhaps not the wisest of barbs to do either. He looked down at her, speculative."Difficult to say." He actually answered the question seriously. "Legally? Decidedly. But then British laws on the subject are so guilt-ridden I'm surprised we've propagated as a race." He mad a small, grim smile. "How delightful we're having this conversation. And what is it you like?

He looked for gestures, afraid of words

Very softly as he nuzzled her, his mouth near her ear, he began to sing: "I'm so happy with you, la, la...

You’re brave. You’re good. Why would you hesitate to explore yourself? Your dark nooks and crannies? With someone who is fascinated by the whole of you? You aren’t a bad woman, merely a human one, which entails a certain amount of”—he cocked his head—“‘awfulness,’ as you call it.

People missed things. People didn’t notice; people didn’t care. People’s own misperceptions made black into white, made grey into whatever they wanted it to be.

A man in cahoots with a woman’s sexual instinct was the devil himself, for he had the united power over her—himself and her own longing—greater than a mere man

The most consistent thing about Graham Wessit was his attitude of open experiment. Can you even imagine , she asked herself, plain, quiet, intellectual little you spending a lifetime on the arm of such a havoc-producing man?