"Honey, you know I didn't mean anything like that…"

Sharon suddenly felt ashamed at her comments, her inordinate fear of a simple plane flight. She put her arms around her husband and clung to him tightly, kissing him openly, unmindful of the crowd of people waiting to board the aircraft or saying good-bye to friends and relatives.

Oh how she loved him! she thought as she nuzzled his over-coated chest. They had been married almost three years now, but her ardor for the man she had chosen from a long, long list of suitors back in America had not waned in the slightest from their wedding day. This handsome, dark-haired, gray-eyed man, with the smiling mouth and the gentleness of a kindly village doctor, the impetuousness of a small boy, was her whole life and the idea of living without him for even three or four days filled her with unhappiness. From the moment they had been married in a small white church in San Francisco, they had been separated for only a few hours at a time, certainly never more than a single day. And when the opportunity to move to England, in the shape of a lucrative job offer from Greater Continental Packaging, Ltd., had presented itself, she had even flown to the British Isles with Neal to consummate the acceptance of the position with the signing of a two-year contract.

They had lived in London now for the better part of a year, in a small flat in Kensington, and she had been deliriously happy. The English people fascinated her, and she felt at ease around them; she and Neal had made many friends during their stay, and had become very popular in their middle-class social circle. They were an active couple, doing many things together – tennis, swimming, hiking, horseback riding – and they were completely compatible in every way. Their lovemaking, from the very first (Sharon had been a virgin on their wedding night, and Neal had had only a few brief interludes with women of questionable standing), had been tender and gentle, and yet somehow abandoned too.