No one ate with as much passionate gusto as a teenager could. “What I mean is. She twisted to meet him and folded into his embrace. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. Anna hailed a bus. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. “Is Miss Stanley coming up with us?” “I go second,” she said, “and change at Wimbledon. But underneath this tolerance there is always the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassert itself. Oh, cuss it!” “Eh?” “He said I would.
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