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. He just seemed to have no interest, consumed with the hunt or his newfound friend, Sebastianus, who supposedly would enable him to expand his political ties to Rome. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. ‘And so also have I. I mean to have you! Don’t frown me off now. All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. ” With a little shrug of the shoulders Anna followed him.
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