If Ann Veronica could have put words to that song they would have been, “Hot-blooded marriage or none!” but she was far too indistinct in this matter to frame any words at all. Ruth's mind was fertile soil; for a long time to come it would be something of a hothouse: green things would spring up and blossom overnight. Only after he had pushed himself completely inside was the friction lessened. She hadn't measured up; she had been stupid; she hadn't known how to make love.
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