‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. So here I am, king of all I survey, with a predilection for poker, a scorched liver, and a piano-player. I thought I'd been sufficiently explicit," continued Jonathan. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. Half an hour's labour, during which he was obliged more than once to pause to regain breath, sufficed to make a hole wide enough to allow a passage for his arm up to the elbow.
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