are you looking at?" she asked coming to me. "I was just looking for the best way to get out if ever we were surprised", I said, "if we leave this window open I can always drop into the garden and get away quickly."
"You would hurt yourself", she cried. "Not a bit of it", I answered, "I could drop half as far again without injury, the only thing is, I must have boots on and trousers, or those thorns of yours would give me gip!" . . . . "You boy", she exclaimed laughing: "I think after your strength and passion, it is your boyishness I love best"—and she kissed me again and again.
"I must work", I warned her, "Smith has given me a lot to do." "Oh, my dear", she said, her eyes filling with tears, "that means you won't come tomorrow or", she added hastily, "even the day after?"
"I can't possibly", I declared, "I have a good week's work in front of me; but you know I'll come the first afternoon I can make myself free and I'll let you know the day before, sweet!" She looked at me with tearful eyes and quivering lips: "love is its own torment!" she sighed while I dressed and got away quickly.
The truth was I was already satiated: her passion held nothing new in it: she had taught me all she could and had nothing more in her, I thought; while Kate was prettier and much younger and a virgin. Why shouldn't I confess it? It was Kate's virginity attracted me irresistibly: I pictured her legs to myself, her hips and thighs and her sex: she wouldn't have a harsh bush of hairs; already I felt the silken softness of her triangle: would it be brown or have strands of gold in it like her hair?
The next few days passed in reading the books Smith had lent me, especially "Das Kapital", the se-