A mere waif, he thought, albeit an extremely attractive one. With the quiet closing of the doors, he got up in turn and walked over to his wife who was recumbent in a blue velvet-covered chair.

'Are you to see to Johnson now?' he asked, soothing one of her wrists with his palm as he spoke.

'You wish me to? Easton, dear, what are you at?' Letitia asked. Knowing how strong he was, she did not resist as he slipped both hands beneath her armpits and drew her to her feet. Letitia, though in her early forties, had not yet run to fat, though her breasts and her derriere were satisfyingly ample and firm. She had been, in Easton's eyes, a fine catch when she was nineteen, and still was so now. Passing one large palm around her nether cheeks, he felt their weight and glowing warmth.

'Have I ever deceived you, my sweet?' he asked.

'Yes', Letitia replied steadily, but under his gaze her expression crumpled a little. Their relationship, as just a few of their most intimate friends knew, was a strange and unusual one. In many respects Easton dominated her, in a few, Letitia held sway. Both recognised the fact, and both accepted it.- 'He… he is horrid, Easton. Johnson, I mean. He is crude. Do you not know that he uses me-a mere servant that he is?'

'All women, my dear, desire occasionally to be used. You wish to prove yourself an exception? I believe not. You will go timourously but willingly. You will enjoy and regret. Is such not the salt and savour of life?'

Held against him, Letitia hid her face.

'It would be nice if it were always you', she murmured with little conviction.

'Do I not have other duties, too? Do we not both have? Is it not the way we have marked-the lane that we know. I should have said, perhaps, the lanes'.