She changed into a halter top and a pair of tight jeans herself, and let Lucy brush her long, glossy hair as they talked about mascara, schoolwork, and boys. “Dyed!” “And your figure?” “One’s corsetière arranges that. ’ Melusine hardly dared believe she had heard him aright. Each became frightfully aware of the other as a plastic energetic body, of the strong muscles of neck against cheek, of hands gripping shoulder-blade and waist. She made an abrupt personal appeal. She bounced onto her bottom. Nobody ever called me John, that I recollect.
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