He could smell the candle she must have blown out as soon as she heard him enter. "You can help with the paint on my neck."
Patrick did not speak. The light moved down her arm to the bowl, illuminated her hand which wet the cloth, squeezed it, and moved forward to give it to him. She saw his right hand reach to take it from her. His hand began to wipe her neck. He removed the brown paint, turned her around and slowly wiped the vermilion frown-mark by her mouth, the light close on her face.
He rinsed out the cloth again, and holding her forehead steady wiped the targets off her eyes, cloth over one finger for precision, the blue left iris wavering at the closeness...so that it was not Alice Gull but something more intimate--an eye muscle having to trust a fingertip to remove that quarter-inch of bright yellow around her sight.
(Ondaatje 121)
Patrick did not speak. The light moved down her arm to the bowl, illuminated her hand which wet the cloth, squeezed it, and moved forward to give it to him. She saw his right hand reach to take it from her. His hand began to wipe her neck. He removed the brown paint, turned her around and slowly wiped the vermilion frown-mark by her mouth, the light close on her face.
He rinsed out the cloth again, and holding her forehead steady wiped the targets off her eyes, cloth over one finger for precision, the blue left iris wavering at the closeness...so that it was not Alice Gull but something more intimate--an eye muscle having to trust a fingertip to remove that quarter-inch of bright yellow around her sight.
(Ondaatje 121)