" It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. But most of all, I wanted to love. Her aunt arrived about halfpast ten, in black and with an unusually thick spotted veil. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. The perception of him flooded her being. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid.
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