“Relax,” she had said. “I haven’t invited you to an orgy, Harrow.” From this lying-down angle, the painting of the nude and obstreperously beautiful woman was in full sightline. You had murmured, “I believe you … albeit many wouldn’t.” “This is why I cultivate you, Harrowhark,” she had remarked, “the suspicion that you might possess a sense of humour.”
