Glory [antikvár]

The woman walked into the bedroom barefoot, her summer dress unzippered to the small of her back. She looked thoughtful. She pushed off the shoulder-straps of the dress and let it fall to the floor, then stepped out of it and walked to a small writing-desk in order to make an entry in her diary. She paused, looking at what she'd written as if it didn't quite make sense to her. After a moment she moved back to the centre of the room, reaching towards the small of her back with both hands.When the man saw her make that gesture, he almost gasped. The idiosyncratic pose of a woman about to unhook her brassiere; it never failed to produce a rush of lust in him - the hands nimble and practised on the clasp, the back slightly arched, the elbows akimbo. He'd been fifteen when he first saw it. He remembered now the shock and excitement of the moment. He had lain on his narrow bed, and the girl had walked towards him, smiling, naked apart from that one garment, her hands going back in that casual secretive way. The girl had been his sister.The woman shrugged out of the bra and let it drop; then, without pausing, stripped off her panties and walked past the window to the wardrobe. Strong bands of sunlight filtered through the slats of a Venetian blind. Her copper-coloured hair shone in the glow. As she opened the wardrobe door, the man had to step to one side to avoid it. He moved to the centre of the room, but she removed a towelling robe and11