“You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. His glance came up again and met hers. Groups of boys took to ogling her as she walked frenetically from class to class. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. ” “Ye—e—es. The fellow is little better than a lunatic. She studied her form in the full length mirror, assessed 69 her body as one would that of a prize calf, trying to see it through his eyes, through the eyes of desire.
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