Martin said “Hi” to her in the halls every day now, a sure sign of trouble. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. All the king's horses and all the king's men could not undo what was done; nor kill the strange exquisite flower that had grown up in his own lonely heart. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. I am quite sure though that they did not mean to be rude. His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head.
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