" "Whom do you mean?" demanded Jackson. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. ‘Very well, never mind. The third item she took with a trembling hand by its waistbelt. The flush deck was without wells. "Jack!" Her son averted his gaze. Watching her strip had been delicious for him, and a part of him enjoyed her self-consciousness acutely. He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. "You!" cried Jack, scornfully.
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