All emotions laid hold of him, but none could he stay long enough to analyze it. His hands reached under her skirt. ‘At last,’ he cried, ‘I have found you!’ He would listen to nothing. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. Possessed, at one time, of a share in the South Sea stock, he conceived himself worth twenty thousand pounds. He talked about his driver's license, how he would soon inherit his older brother's BMW.
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