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The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. “What are you two whispering about?” She turned towards Martin. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. ” Miss Miniver’s manner became impressive. He felt like a boy again, the taste for adventures was keen upon his palate, the whole undiscovered world of rhythmical things, of love and poetry and passion seemed again to him a real and actual place, and he himself an adventurer upon the threshold. “TROUSERS!” she whispered.
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