Shoulders and head against the settee, she told him how grateful she was to be in Ermenonville ... I escaped from old London ... I love the Petit Lac ... I love the gardens ... the forest ... the shrines ... I've seen Jean Jacques' ghost ... oh, yes, at the Lac ... ah, you and Colonel Ronde, to work things out for me here ... the hospital staff tries, tries very hard to favor me sometimes ... so many wounded ... but I think ... no, no, don't stop kissing me ... what difference does all that make? I'll stop talking ... now ...
With refills, they contemplated the fires, drowsing, yet wholly alive, eager, stalling like animals, happy animals, sure of themselves--anticipating through the medium of the firelight, each other's faces, each other's hands.
He thought of the freckles on her shoulders ... thought of her lovely breasts ... her perfumed skin.
"Shall we go upstairs?"
"Yes ... but..."
"I know..."
"Yes, it seems..."
"But it's my own room ... my old room..."
"Yes."
"When do you have to return to the hospital?"