Authors: Frederic Lindsay
Of
course,
she
knew
his
habits.
Alerted,
she
stared
at
the
briefcase
which
he
had
set
upright
on
his
knee.
'I
hadn't
opened
it
till
then.
The
Faculty
meeting
with McBain
was
postponed.
Again!'
'Mmm
.’
'So
to
make
an
end
of
the
seminar,
I
tip
up
the
briefcase
to
bring
out
the
papers.
You
know
that
trick
of
mine?'
He
drew
the
low
table
up
against
his
knees
and,
suiting
the
action
to
the
word,
emptied
the
case.
A
book
and
a
selection
of
papers
slid
out,
and
with
them
slithering
across
the
polished
surface
perhaps
a
dozen
contraceptive sheaths
in
their
neat
little
packages.
'That's
exactly
the
way
it
happened.’
He
lined
them
up
in
a
tidy
row.
Now extra safe
,
she
read;
now extra safe
.
'I
couldn't
think
of
anything
to
say –
and
I'd
been
talking
so
fluently.
My
bright
young
people,
being
bright,
took
their
leave.
Being
young
they
couldn't
resist
letting
me
hear
their
laughter
from
the
other
side
of
the
door.’
'But
it's
disgraceful,'
she
said.
'How
could
they
have
dared?'
Nothing
in
her
vision
of
Maitland
with
his
students fitted
a
joke
like
that.
If,
in
fact,
it
could
be
described
as
a
joke
at
all.
It
was
malice,
the
kind
of
malice
directed
against
someone
who
was
disliked
and,
worse
than
that,
despised.
'But
it's
not
funny,
it's
appalling,'
she
said.
'You
don't
feel
I
was
over-reacting?
I
mean,
to
a
student
prank.
Not
in
very
admirable
taste,
of
course,
but
then
you
don't
look
to
students
for
models
of
taste.’
She
was
disappointed
in
him.
It
wasn't
like
him
to
look for
some
palatable
evasion.
'I
don't
see
how
you
can
call it
a
prank!'
she
said.
'I'm
not
disagreeing,'
he
said
mildly.
'I
just
wonder
why you're
so
sure.’
'Those
things,'
her
glance
flicked
over
the
neat
row,
'those
ridiculous
things.
They
will
make
me
embarrassed
when
we're
on
campus
together.
The
idea
someone
might
be
referring
to
them
when
they
see
us.’
'You
think
they
make
me
ridiculous?'
'That's
not –
not
what
I
was
saying –'
'They're
dirty
perhaps?
But
not
ridiculous
–
in
their
right
place.
A
place
for
everything
and
everything
in
its
place.’
'I
understand
you
must
have
been
upset,'
she
said,
'but why
take
it
out
on
me?'
'I
couldn't
think
of
anyone
else
who
would
have
had
the
chance
to
put
them
in
there.’
'You
really
are
serious.’
She
knew
that
she
should
be
angrier,
the
innocent
should
be
angry.
'You
really
believe
I
could
do
a
thing
like
that.
Something
so
…
undignified.’
Suddenly
she
was
in
tears.
'If
you
don't –’
And again,
'If
you –'
for
what
she
could
not
find
words
for
in
her
distress
was
this
horror
of
not
being
known.
In
the
dark,
his
hand
stroked
her
shoulder.
'You're
not
asleep?'
'No
.’
He
turned
her
gently
and
she
felt
his
hand
take
the
weight
of
her
breast
and
then
run
lightly,
tingling
her
skin,
down
her
front
until
he
trailed
the
tips
of
his
fingers
across
her
belly.
'You
hurt
me
so
much,'
she
whispered,
and
felt
him
stir
against
her.
'I'm
sorry.’
'I
don't
understand
how
you
could
think
a
thing
like
that.’
'We'll
call
it
a
mystery.
Let's
not
worry
about
it
now.’
All
the
time
his
fingers
brought
her
to
life.
They
stroked
the
inner
side
of
her
thighs,
went
on
her
belly,
on
her
thighs
again,
on
her
groin.
She
opened
to
him.
His
finger
lifted
the
sensitive
beak
of
her
flesh,
rubbed.
'Come
into
me!'
'Roll
over.’
Still
with
his
finger
insistent
on
the
sensitive
place,
he
put
her
over
face-down.
She
quivered
knowing
what
was
to
come,
and
her
buttocks
sprang
to
the
beating
of
his
hand.
'I'm
punishing
you
for
what
you
did,'
he
whispered,
his
breath
hot
against
her
skin.
But,
'No!'
she
cried,
and
heaved
herself
away
from
him.
How dare he!
'You
said
you
believed
me!'
'I'm
sorry.
I'm
sorry.’
His
contrition
whispered
over
her
out
of
the
dark.
'Sorry.
Sorry.
It's
only
our
game.
I
wasn't
talking
about
that
–
what
happened.
That's
forgotten.’
He
kissed
her
on
the
lips.
'My
darling,
my
love.’
How
could
she
help
forgiving
him?
'My
love.’