She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. It may bring us together again. Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. They WERE weird. Her greatest exploit was the howling before the mid-day meal. I believed that our marriage was genuine. She was a little paler than when she had come to London, a little paler and a little thinner. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. “There’s morbid beauty,” said Ann Veronica.
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