He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own. There was a lot of that, John, a great deal of hunger. Oh God! pardon me. The uncanny directness of those gray eyes, the absence of diffidence, the beauty of the face in profile (full, it seemed a little too broad to make for perfect beauty), the mellow voice that came full and free, without hesitance, all combined to mark her as the most unusual young woman he had ever met. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin.
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