Ann Veronica pushed aside a tea-cup and the vestiges of her strawberries and cream, and put her elbows before her on the table. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. He spoke only when he saw the sing-song girl he wanted to buy. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. It's almost incredible. But to-day he did not get beyond half a dozen desultory start-offs. Latterly I’ve been doing things. ’ ‘I do. She was too wrapped up in the sheer joy of playing again; it had 201 been intimate, masturbatory. They thought that she was her own mother.
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