“That’s the point. ‘I rather gathered as much,’ said Miss Froxfield, releasing her hands. Silly, isn’t it? Undisciplined. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. She drew his penis out of the strange little vent in his boxer shorts. It seemed at first the most beautiful afternoon of all time to her, and perhaps the thrill of her excitement did add a distinctive and culminating keenness to the day. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated.
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