Glad you survived the Lovelace shock, Flowers. And now I have another little story for you.
, Flowers?, old pal LavenderScentedHanky, AKA me, is still very worried about her friend?s refusal to bow to the inevitable and allow the delicious Mr Thornton further liberties.
Reluctantly deciding to take matters into her own hands, she chooses a slim morocco-bound volume from her bookshelves (these last carefully crafted by that nice Mr Armitage, what a dear boy he was) and checking her reticule for one other vital piece of equipment, slips out of her house and down the street to Marlborough Mansions.
There as usual she finds Flowers seated in a small bergere, sipping at a cooling glass of barley water in an attempt to minimize her maidenly palpitations, and gazing coyly up at Mr Thornton. That worthy gentleman is not gazing coyly at Flowers at all. In fact he has worked up a dangerous head of smoulder and reflects that if his beloved doesn?t get her act together soon, his frustration will oblige him to visit an Establishment and if Mother finds out about that he will be in even deeper horse apples.
??I apologise for the intrusion, Flowers dear,?? says LSH, ??but I just wanted to leave that book you were asking about??
??Thank you, ??says Flowers placing it on the small table before her, not really remembering any such request and distracted enough not to notice a grey kid glove slip into a reticule and bring out a silver flacon.
Inside is LSH?s secret weapon. A copious amount of a curious colourless, tasteless liquid, unknown yet in Miltown, but brought back by a sea captain uncle from one of his trips to the Baltic. It is known, apparently, by the strange name of ??little water?? in English. Wotka , in the original Russian. She empties it into Flowers barley water glass and
retreats hastily, to allow the magic potion to take effect. She has also assisted any lighting of the blue touch paper with another little ploy..
??Look, dear??, Mr Thornton says, taking up the book left by LSH ??Tennyson. She has marked a place, too. Would you like me to read it for you???
Flowers nods, feeling strangely warm inside, but not misliking it
Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
The firefly wakens: waken thou with me.
Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.
Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.
Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.
Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.
Go on. Get your hands under that floppy white shirt and run them up to his manly shoulders, while you feel his hot breath on your neck?