For every Eden, there will be a serpent; for every sheepfold, there will be a wolf. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. Too easily roused emotions and too little passion. She was feeling extraordinarily well that night, so that the sense of her body was a deep delight, a realization of a gentle warmth and strength and elastic firmness. "Sir Rowland, I salute you as your nephew.
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