"Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating. 155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. "Don't stir," replied Jack. She reeled in excitement, she unzipped his pants while kissing him, trying not to let herself stop touching him as she unclothed him. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. There are men in the Lowndean who laugh at him—simply laugh at him.
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