The time spent with Don Juan had turned from days into weeks into months and with it changed the rhythm and cadence of Elfrieda's life. The big house had once dragged her into melancholy; the empty rooms had terrified her; insidious was her isolation and her relationship with her husband was barren. Now the sunroom and the attic and the small study held memories that made her smile and sigh when she walked by. Everywhere they had lain together, they had taken away from Clifford what he would not know was missing.

Yes, he still came to her room sometimes. She could hardly deny him every advance without hurting his ego and rousing his suspicion. She was not even sure if Clifford went to other women when he was away — perhaps he simply lacked the sensuality to find it very important, as long as he got off when the impulse found him at night or in the morning.

Don Juan, on the other hand, was gifted with sensuality like Elfrieda had not thought it possible for a man; not a real one, anyway. She had not known it could be this way. Now they were on the chaise longue and she pressed herself against his hands and was very pleasurably occupied.

Perhaps it had been the months since they were having this affair, the many times they had gotten away. The housekeepers were sent off; Clifford would not return until the morrow.
Elfrieda felt unworried and unconcerned that anything could go wrong this time.

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