I met him on the landing, where he was wiping his mouth with his towel, having just brushed his teeth. He was barefoot and also wearing only his pyjama bottoms. With his bare chest and arms now in full view before me, once again I was embarrassed and self-conscious. His muscles were more defined than mine and whereas I was hairless and freckle-free, his upper chest and arms still had the freckles I remembered from when we were kids. But he was more tanned than me; he had clearly been spending a lot of time outdoors, unlike me. He also now had a few pale hairs across his chest; and down his smooth tummy, towards the loosely-knotted waistband of his pyjamas. I tried not to look too intently as we passed on the landing but I was sure I noticed the tell-tale sign of his young manhood moving about provocatively in his pyjama bottoms, as he walked towards me. A hot flush ran up and down my back and I felt a bit like a nerd with a crush on his hero – which was, of course, exactly what I. Each evening, when he returned to his cabin for the evening, she would lie in the bed silently. Remembering her excitement the first time he had taken her, he wished he could do something to get a response, but no matter what he tried, she remained icy to his advances. One evening, confident in his charisma, he decided that he would confront her about her silence and hopefully get her to talk. As before, she sat in his bed, tied to the headboard, as impassive as a statue. Amelia, stubborn as ever she had been to the many women her father had brought into their house to educate her, was determined not to give up her silent protest. To her mind she was acting like a newly abducted Persephone. ‘Won’t you talk to me?’ he asked. Still she stared at him impassively. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked for the umpteenth time. Still there was no response. Seeing that he seemed to be sailing into the wind, he decided to take another tack. ‘I’m sorry but your mother is dead. I assume the woman that.
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