“Ah no!” she said, shocked. “Then you can’t ever really want me! You can’t want me, if you feel that!”

Again he was silent, his face sullen. Outside there was only the threshing of the rain.

“It’s not quite true!” she whispered. “It’s not quite true! There’s another truth.” She felt he was bitter now partly because she was leaving him, deliberately going away to Venice. And this half pleased her.

She pulled open his clothing and uncovered his belly, and kissed his navel. Then she laid her cheek on his belly, and pressed her arm round his warm, silent loins. They were alone in the flood.

“Tell me you want a child, in hope!” she murmured, pressing her face against his belly. “Tell me you do!”