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Show •291 to the upper part of the house where Carlo was perhaps lying awake and it occurred to me that I, like Adam, was certainly desperate for love. And for other things also, I thought, holding tight to Morgan and light-footing it • with concentration over the slightly uneven floor: for richness, for certainty, for Reason even, that French disease that they claim distinguishes us from the brutes. No brute I, I went to sleep beside Morgan, cupping one breast in my palm, my nose tucked in behind her ear so that I breathed in the faint musky delicate scent of her skin. Sometime in the night I woke up and we made love sweetly and silently, without talking at all. No brute, but not civilized either. Half-awake, we moved softly and slowly; it was tender, but for a fact no more romantic than a coupling of puppies. Playful, with exchanged nips and licks, and at the end a little cry of pleasure from my daytime-competent lady. Some people get sad after sex-I become philosophical, as if the sexual organs were directly plugged into a metaphysical gland which when tickled by the act floods my brain and sets me to thinking furiously if not well. I turned over and tried to go to sleep again, but with no luck. Tomorrow was Saturday and we were going to get up early and go picnic by the seaside, in the same little park where |