Lombard Street was never the most pleasant of places, even by slum standards but the dry weather had reduced the central drain to a sluggish trickle which was incapable of carrying the street detritus away. “Worse,” Anne muttered darkly, directing Meggi’s gaze by lifting her chin. “Catholics.” She spat the word loud enough that the group scuttled away, their feet kicking up little clouds of dust. “Would you hate me so if I were Catholic?” Meggi enquired. “Meggi! Do not say such a thing! It is bad enough that you are Welsh. Would it be that you were Catholic, we would not be friends.” The words hurt as though Meggi’s heart itself had been stitched. She knew that Anne was a good person deep down; it just seemed that the good had been buried more deeply since she had married her tea merchant. Anne’s husband had been away for eight months and Meggi knew that she waited for her beloved’s letters as a drowning person waits for breath. Still. That was when Meggi saw him for the first. He was still kissing her neck and shoulders, but every now and then, he would nibble an ear lobe. When he did, she giggled and her head twitched down from the ticklish feeling. He never paused his slow movements, though. She pressed herself back into him and wanted him to take her to bed right then, but he wasn’t in any hurry.Leaving her nipples, his hands moved down and converged just above her pubic hairline. He could feel the coarse curls through her gown and used his fingers again to trace a line following the crease on either side where her legs joined her torso. His fingers met again and the point in the middle just below her pussy and he pressed in a little harder as he retraced the lines going up.Nancy was having a hard time standing still and whispered, ”Take me to bed.”They walked together and he helped her get on the bed. Paul had her lay on her back against the crisp, cool sheets that she had put on the bed earlier that day. She watched him with a nervous flutter still in.
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