
After all I did not fare so badly as some of them. Not long after we returned from our honeymoon I ran against an intimate friend of mine, Lucy by name. Of course I had to stand a good deal of chaff from her, and she wormed out of me how George had treated me the first night.
'Oh, that's nothing,' she blurted out in a knowing way, and then seemed to recollect herself. A thought struck me.
'How do you know? Has George ever fucked you?' Poor Lucy fell into confusion, quite unable to answer, so I pressed my guess home.
'You needn't deny it: I can see from your face that he has,' I said with a smile.
Lucy, somewhat reassured, confessed. 'Well, as you don't seem to mind, I admit he has, but I am not the only one by a long way, you know.
There are a good many others who can pretty well imagine what your bridal night was.' 'Yes, I knew when I married him what his reputation was, but, like a fool, thought he would stick to me and give up his promiscuous fucking, but I don't now hug myself in that belief. I should hardly have thought, though, Lucy, you would be one to be knocked off your perch so easily. Tell me all about it, and I will forgive you.' Lucy I may say was well about twenty, and a good-looking girl of nice figure. The last time I saw her she was the mother of five or six children, and had a belly on her like a camel's hump. So she began.
