She savored the sweetness of his lips, all of his great youth and passion and longed for his innocence, his complete lack of the knowledge of terrible things. He did not look up, so he did not know that in her other hand she held a glass of wine. It is Thérèse. A smile trembled at the corners of her mouth as she recalled Gerald’s ridiculous upbraiding of his own reflection in the mirror. But—it’s one of the things I’ve just been thinking over. “I’ve brought you up some dinner, Vee,” she said. "This she-devil has got hold of the sack.
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