It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. He rose deliberately to his feet and confronted them. “If I were to marry now,” she said, “it would be with a sense of humiliation. Sheppard snatched back her hand from his grasp, and exerted all her force to repel his advances. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. “It is in your hands from now on, Shar. Stanley, produced a portrait from its hiding-place in the jewel-drawer under the mirror.
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