Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. Spurlock. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. Her mind had been and was full of the thought of Capes, a huge generalized Capes-lover. She studied her form in the full length mirror, assessed 69 her body as one would that of a prize calf, trying to see it through his eyes, through the eyes of desire.
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