The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. I have an idea that you are in some sort of trouble. He refused. ‘Alors, what advantages?’ ‘But think,’ he said earnestly, moving a little closer. She did not see Sebastian turn towards the boy and his family, but every hair on the back of her neck stood up rigidly. There was, it might be said, a double illumination. And the grotesquest fact was that she did not so much loathe, as experience with a quite critical condemnation this strange sensation of being kissed.
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