"The grave's a fine and secret place, but none, I think, do there embrace." At those words, it suddenly came to Tietjens to think of Sylvia, with the merest film of clothing on her long, shining limbs. She was working a powder-puff under her armpits in a brilliant illumination from two electric lights, one on each side of her dressing table. She was looking at him in the glass with the corners of her lips just moving. A little curled. He said to himself: "One is going to that fine and secret place. Why not have?" She had emanated a perfume founded on sandalwood. As she worked her swansdown powder-puff over those intimate regions, he could hear her humming - maliciously! It was then that he had observed the handle of the door moving minutely. She had incredible arms, stretched out amongst a wilderness of besilvered cosmetics. Extraordinarily lascivious! Yet clean – her gilded sheath gown was about her hips on the chair. Well! She had pulled the strings of one too many shower-baths! Shining; radiating glory but still shrivelled so that she reminded Tietjens of an old apple inside a damascened helmet. The general had seated himself once more on the bully-beef case before the blanketed table. He fingered his very large, golden fountain-pen. He said: "Captain Tietjens, I should be glad of your careful attention." Tietjens said: "Sir!" His heart stopped. The general said that that afternoon Tietjens would receive a movement order.
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