Page:Frank Owen - The Scarlett Hill, 1941.djvu/47

 She did not know that he was an extremist in his pursuit of pleasure. He longed for the privilege of sampling every new sensation. Though he was young in years, he was old in experience. There were few emotions with which he had not experimented. He knew that Yuhan was of a loveliness to cause the stars to tremble, for, unobserved, he had beheld her when she was visiting the far flung bazaars of Changan. No veil hid the beauty of her face, nor the lantern brilliance of her dark eyes. His jaded nerves were whipped into life as he meditated over the rounded contour of her breasts which the little silk jacket kept prisoner with difficulty. And then reluctantly, he turned away lest she notice his bold scrutiny. He felt elated because so soon she would be his, to sweeten his sleep with lies, for he was not deceived by her soft manner of speech. A woman with such eyes would use every charm she possessed to bend her lord to her will. He had been warned of her occasional outbursts of anger. He smiled. His temples throbbed with desire. He licked his burning dry lips. He would devise methods to train her. But the thought carried no conviction. Such a girl would be like a reed that bends to every breeze but breaks not in the tempest. Without reason, he roared with laughter. Then he repaired to a wine shop and proceeded to drink until he was in a state bordering on mellow but even then he could still see her figure dancing in his wine-cup, even as she was dancing in his heart.

In this manner had he beheld her for the first time.