Sabina proceeded with her melancholy musings: What if she had
a man who ordered her about? A man who wanted to master her?
How long would she put up with him? Not five minutes!
>From which it follows that no man was right for her. Strong or weak.
-- Kundera
Quote #557
Carlotta lay on the mound of pillows strewn about the floor of the
poolhouse back arched and head thrown back, screaming the name of the only
man who had ever taken her to the pinnacle of unbridled ecstasy, the only
man with whom she had experienced the overwhelming rush of carnal
electricity - unfortunately not the man who now peered up at her from the
tangle of hastily discarded clothing with the sullen and quizzical visage of
a calf looking at a new gate....
Like an expensive sports car, fine-tuned and well-buil Portia was sleek,
shapely, and gorgeous, her red jumpsuit moulding her body, which was as warm
as seatcovers in July, her hair as dark as new tires, her eyes flashing like
bright hubcaps, and her lips as dewy as the beads of fresh rain on the hood...