With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. “Wow, congratulations, Martin. “I don’t mean simply intensity of sensation. ” She was silent, and in the gloom of the dimly lit apartment he could not see her face. He, for his part, was trying to grasp the series of unexpected reactions that had so wrecked their tete-a-tete. And experience was slow in coming. We aren't between him and heaven; he is between us and heaven.
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