She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. The terrific mental tension of the past few months —that had held his bodily nourishment in a kind of strangulation—became as a dream; and now his vitals responded rapidly to food and air. “My child, I do not wish. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. ‘Do that again,’ he said softly, ‘and I’ll make you sorry you ever came to England.
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