127 “But Mary Lucia, it isn’t what it looks like! She’s an old friend, there’s nothing serious going on!” Without a word, she about-faced and flew down his steps, running fast, jumping four steps at a time. She unlaced his pants and slid them down his hips, examining him as he stood before her naked. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. “My husband!” she laughed a little derisively. His kisses drew deeper, he started unlacing her dress. Clean water. It was instantly answered by the deep note of St.
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