He was so horny that he could probably make love to a tree. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. ‘You are too shrewd for me, ma’am. Lightheaded, she threw up in the courtyard of the Palazzo as servants crowded her in alarm. It doesn't matter that you deal with black people.
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