Uneasily and yet with wonder then I slid beside her. Through the sheet I saw the upward rising of her breasts-how the white cotton flowed, delineating belly, hips, the junction of her thighs.

“Yes,” I said. I felt a breathlessness. My chest was tight. Her head came to my shoulder, rested there. She took my arm and brought it over her waist.-“It is bad of him, Harry, is it not? Kiss me at least. I need such comforting.”

“Of course.” I moved my mouth too awkwardly to hers. Her lips parted at the meeting of our mouths. In that moment of sweet warmth and succulence I could scarcely tell whether it were she or Caroline, but then she twisted her face away, flushed not a little and stared at the window.

“Harry, you have never kissed me before-properly. Did you not want to?” she murmured. Still she would not look at me. I choked on a reply that had no words. Again her face turned to mine, her lips apart. Tip of pink tongue I saw and small, white teeth. Her nostrils pinched. She had a strained and passionate look.-“Do it properly-I feel forlorn,” she whispered, but at that moment Caroline returned, bearing a tray, the glasses tinkling on the silver plate.

“Wine before kisses-it will make them taste the better afterward,” she laughed. I sat up guiltily. My sister clasped my hand, my knuckles pressed to her warm hip. I felt a desperation in her touch, perhaps excitement, but I did not know. “Adelaide, sit up. Your wine will spill,” Caroline said and extended first a glass to her.

“I can't. He'll see me,” Adelaide replied, but even so she sat up, clasping the sheet up to her chin. Her back was bare. I saw the small, tight, polished globe of her bottom splurging on the sheet and felt a quiver in my stiffened prick. She took the glass and pressed it to her chin. A smile passed between the pair and then was gone.

Caroline sat opposite, upon the other side, with Adelaide between us, perky in her posture, sitting up.