CHAPTER SEVEN
Diana opened her eyes and saw that she was in a field of her mind, a meadow as illimitable as the ocean, pink slabs and tombstones topping through windblown waves of breast-high yellow and red grass, some of them translucent, neon, candy and cunt bright. The air was heavy with scents of ozone and sulphur and myrrh and muscadine and ginger, hot tides of spearmint wind and pale odors of perineal ravines. An intoxicating desire overcame her. She was still, she saw, wearing her dress, after all she had been through. It was time to get rid of it, she thought, and she lowered the dress from her shoulders and flung it like a cape into the grass, freeing herself, unsnapping her brassiere and casting it aside, glorying in the complete unenthralled sensuality of her feeling and her na
