“You must do more than think of it,” he urged. "We may trust him," he added in a whisper; "he is a staunch friend of the good cause. ‘That’s wicked, that is. ‘I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted. “Are you a virgin, Julian? With your handsome face and powerful body, you mean to tell me that you haven’t dipped your wick?” He started to get angry, “But it’s not the same for guys as it is for girls!” “So you have tasted the forbidden fruit, haven’t you? You’re no different than any male. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. Think of those days in Paris. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered.
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