“I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. “Let your friends act for you. She had become unashamed of her nudity, altogether unfocused on her appearance. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. “Ugh!” she said.
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