(From “The Blue Lagoon,” a novel.)
Her ears were small and like little white shells. He would take one
between finger and thumb and play with it as if it were a toy, pulling at
the lobe of it or trying to flatten out the curved part. Her breasts, her
shoulders, her knees, her little feet, every bit of her, he would examine
and play with and kiss. She would lie and let him, seeming absorbed in
some far-away thought, of which he was the object; then all at once her
arms would go round him. All this used to go on in the broad light of
day, under the shadow of the artu leaves, with no one to watch except the
bright-eyed birds in the leaves above.
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