We've got an OS of the Cuckmere area.

We never saw her ladyship, but the attendants told us, that the Venetians of her apartments were not impenetrably opaque from within, and that the old lady had seen us, and was concerned for our welfare.

Bradly was out of bed, blundering across the floor to kneel by her and pat reassurance on her satin-smooth shoulders. She gripped him with both arms, holding him tight against the convulsive shudder that rejected terror in the security of his arms. Confounded by a dithyrambic conflict of fear and exultation, Bradly could only snatch at one coherent thought, Damme, after the old bitch accusin' me...

Damascus twist