'And wilderness were paradise enow,' murmured Neville in her ear.
Victoria did not know the hackneyed line. It sounded beautiful to her. She laughed nervously and let Neville draw her down by his side on the grass.
'Oh, let me go, Beauty,' she whispered. 'Suppose someone should come.'
Neville did not answer. He had clasped her to him. His lips were more insistent on hers. She felt his hand on her breast.
'Oh, no, no, Beauty, don't, please don't,' she said weakly.
For some minutes she lay passive in his grasp. He had undone the back of her blouse. His hand, cold and dry, had slipped along her shoulder, seeking warmth.
Slowly his clasp grew harder; he used his weight. Victoria bent under it. Something like faintness came over her.
'Victoria, Victoria, my darling.' The voice seemed far away. She was giving way more and more. Not a blade of grass shuddered under its shroud of mist. From the road came the roar of a motorbus, like a muffled drum. Then she felt the damp of the grass on her back through the opening of her blouse.
A second later she was sitting up. She had thrust Neville away with a savage push under the chin. He seized her once more. She fought him, seeing nothing to struggle with but a silent dark shadow.
'No, Beauty, no, you mustn't,' she panted.