“And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs. ‘The fact of it is,’ I said, ‘I’m the new playwright, Thomas More. Part 8 And as she sat on her bed that night, musing and half-undressed, she began to run one hand down her arm and scrutinize the soft flow of muscle under her skin. Even our coarseness. They WERE, she realized, acutely beautiful things. He stopped abruptly.
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