He guided her hand to his crotch, which had already grown in size. "And you have seen … drunken men?" Prudence's tones were full of suppressed horror. A bumper round, gentlemen. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. It was the only time she had ever hit him, punched him right in the stomach like one of his favorite Three Stooges episodes. . ’ She ended on a note of sheer frustration, clenched fists beating the air. Doubts began to rise up all about her, plucking at her confidence. I must go to-night, or I shall never behold him again. Adieu! my charmer.
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