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The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. ‘Gérard will think that I have gone back to London. She tugged at my coat and said, ‘I know of the blue-eyed maid. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise.
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