I have reserved for the conclusion of my "Annabel" phase the account of our unsuccessful  first tryst. One night, she managed to deceive the vicious vigilance of her family. In a nervous and slender-leaved mimosa grove at the back of their villa we found a perch on the  ruins  of  a  low  stone  wall.
Through  the  darkness  and  the tender trees we could see the arabesques of lighted windows which, touched up by the colored inks of  sensitive  memory, appear  to  me  now like playing cards--presumably because a bridge game was keeping the enemy busy. 
She trembled and twitched as I kissed the corner  of her  parted  lips  and  the  hot  lobe of her ear.