Then as she lay very still, with her hands clinched and her black hair tumbled about her face, he came still closer and softly kissed the nape of her neck. It comforts him when he is most forlorn. Her tone was hoarse with passion. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. Marina had retired to bed, drinking wine slowly, sleeping when she was not drinking.
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