“I told you I did not love you. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers. But his astonishment would have been great indeed had he known that not even her father had ever caressed her, either with lips or with hands. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick. This won’t do. Have you ever heard the name of Meysey Hill?” “Meysey Hill?” He repeated it after her, and she knew at once from his tone and his quick glance into her face that the name possessed some significance for him. In the floor were set four ring-bolts, about nine feet apart. To her horror she realized that she had nearly forgotten how to kiss after a years-long dry spell, and she could detect drool on her own chin and John’s cheek. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished.
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