Well, one must hope, that was all. As he felt the threshold of soft wetness he froze and said, “Lucy, are you sure?” She whispered, “Yes,” and guided the top of his penis into her vagina. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. Melusine stepped back a pace, her gaze fixed on the vision before her. He brought his mother to call, and as you know the Countess goes scarcely anywhere. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way.
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