The Malacia Tapestry Read Online Free

cushioning of her generous breasts doing its worst against a mixture of ham, cheese and bread.
    â€˜Dammit, my tunic!’ I cried, and snatched the mess from its hiding-place.
    She burst into the prettiest and best-rehearsed laughter you ever heard.
    â€˜You must remove your shirt, dear Perry. Come into my boudoir.’
    As we trotted into her fragrant room, I said, laughing in high humour, ‘You see how famished a poor actor can be that he sneaks food from the table of the woman he admires most in the world! You discover ham in my tunic – what may not be concealed in my breeches …?’
    â€˜Whatever is there, it shall not take me by surprise.’ Matching action to words, she put her hands behind her back and started to tug at the laces which held her dress.
    In another moment, the two of us were one, rolling in delight, naked upon her unmade couch. Her kisses were hot and thirsty, her body gloriously solid, while she had, as the orientals say, a little moon-shaped fishpool, into which I launched my barque until the waters grew altogether too delightfully stormy for sense. After which, rapturously shipwrecked, we lay about in the bed and I gazed upon her soft and verdant shores.
    â€˜â€¦ “the torrid prehistoric jungles swarming …”’ I misquoted.
    She kissed me juicily until my barque ran up its sail again. As I reached for her, she wagged a finger at me in slow admonition.
    â€˜The secret of any happiness is never to have sufficient. Neither the rich nor the revolutionaries recognize that profound truth. We have enjoyed enough for both of us, provided the future promises more. My husband can’t be trusted to stay away for any length of time. He is insanely suspicious, poor dear, and takes me for a perfect harlot.’
    â€˜So you are perfect,’ I declared, reaching for the scrumptious mounds of her breasts, but she was away and slipping into her shift.
    â€˜Perfect, maybe, but not a harlot. In truth, Perian – though you’d never comprehend this, for you are a creature of your lusts – I am far more affectionate than promiscuous.’
    â€˜You’re lovely as you are.’
    When we were dressed, she gave me a glass of melon juice and a delicious cut of cold quitain. As I was eating, I asked her, ‘Do you know someone called Bengtsohn? – an old man with blue eyes, a foreigner, who says he has enemies everywhere. He comes from Tolkhorm, and has written a play.’
    She was getting restless. ‘Pozzi has used him to paint scenery. He was a good worker but I think he’s a Progressive.’
    â€˜He offered me work with his zahnoscope. What’s a zahnoscope?’
    â€˜How you do talk! Pray eat up and permit me to let you out of the side door, or Pozzi will come back and fall into such a frenzy of jealousy that we shall have no peace for weeks on end.’
    â€˜I wanted to talk to you …’
    â€˜I know what you wanted.’ I picked up my drumstick and made off obediently. There was no fault in this fine girl, and I was anxious to please her. Her main interests were bed and the play which, I supposed, was the reason she was always so sweet-tempered. It seemed no more than just that Kemperer should pay tax in kind on such a precious possession.
    In the street, my elation began to wear almost as thin as my clothes. I had nothing, and was at a loss. My father was no support; I could not sponge off my sister. I could go to a tavern but, without a single denario to my name, could hardly expect my friends to welcome me with open purse. Most of them were in similar straits, except Caylus.
    For want of better amusement I followed various citizens, studying their walks and expressions, until I reached St Marco’s Square. The usual morning market-stalls were set up, with the usual crowds of country men and women in attendance, their horses and mules tethered along the shaded side of Mount Street.
    About the edges of