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"
John
!
"
ventured
a
small
ingratiating
voice
from
the
bathroom
.
"
John
!
"
"
O
thou
weed
,
who
are
so
lovely
fair
and
smell
’
st
so
sweet
that
the
sense
aches
at
thee
.
Was
this
most
goodly
book
made
to
write
’
whore
’
upon
?
Heaven
stops
the
nose
at
it
.
.
.
"
But
her
perfume
still
hung
about
him
,
his
jacket
was
white
with
the
powder
that
had
scented
her
velvety
body
.
"
Impudent
strumpet
,
impudent
strumpet
,
impudent
strumpet
.
"
The
inexorable
rhythm
beat
itself
out
.
"
Impudent
.
.
.
"
"
John
,
do
you
think
I
might
have
my
clothes
?
"
He
picked
up
the
bell
-
bottomed
trousers
,
the
blouse
,
the
zippicamiknicks
.
"
Open
!
"
he
ordered
,
kicking
the
door
.
"
No
,
I
won
’
t
.
"
The
voice
was
frightened
and
defiant
.
"
Well
,
how
do
you
expect
me
to
give
them
to
you
?
"
"
Push
them
through
the
ventilator
over
the
door
.
"
He
did
what
she
suggested
and
returned
to
his
uneasy
pacing
of
the
room
.
"
Impudent
strumpet
,
impudent
strumpet
.
The
devil
Luxury
with
his
fat
rump
and
potato
finger
.
.
.
"
"
John
.
"
He
would
not
answer
.
"
Fat
rump
and
potato
finger
.
"
"
John
.
"
"
What
is
it
?
"
he
asked
gruffly
.
