Hermione’s eyelids lifted with an uncanny movement, amused but overwrought. She had always her strange, rapt look, unnatural and irresponsible.
“I was going on,” said Ursula. “Mr Birkin wanted me to see the rooms. Isn’t it delightful to live here? It is perfect.”
“Yes,” said Hermione, abstractedly. Then she turned right away from Ursula, ceased to know her existence.
“How do you feel, Rupert?” she sang in a new, affectionate tone, to Birkin.
“Very well,” he replied.
“Were you quite comfortable?” The curious, sinister, rapt look was on Hermione’s face, she shrugged her bosom in a convulsed movement, and seemed like one half in a trance.
“Quite comfortable,” he replied.
There was a long pause, whilst Hermione looked at him for a long time, from under her heavy, drugged