Before he went to the kitchen to make a drink for Ethel le Neve, Professor Sir Pontypine MacFarlane adjusted the jalousies of the louvre blinds, to darken the room, and took The Ride of the Valkyries from the gramophone – it being the regular accompaniment to his trysts with Gloriana Gillyfeather – and inserted Pachelbel's Canon in D, being in his opinion, more soporific, and therefore more appropriate for little Ethel; rather than the Vodka and Coke preferred by Gloriana, he made a more soporific Hot Toddy, from the Land of his Forefathers: a double shot of Whyte and Mackay's, a spoonful of honey and feshly boiled water; he ensured that the fire was blazing furiously, giving out plenty of heat and, with all the windows tight, drawing oxygen from the room; to the Toddy he had added a powder which would accelerate the somnolent effect of the drink, heat, music and the lack of oxygen – he handed it to her and she first sipped, smiled and then drank it down; MacFarlane sat in his usual chair, by the fireside, and talked in his most beguiling and hypnotic voice, about his descent from one of the oldest noble families of Scotland, of his bakers dozen of relations in Germany, Russia, and eleven other countries, of his diligent scholarship, and of his strong – he did say – Passion for the young women of the times, who were shaking off the restraining shackles of their forebears, whether by burning their bras or fulfilling their own Desires, and opening themselves to all manner of new experiences, unfettered by concern for the views of Society, determined to plough their own furrows and enjoy the fruits of the Modern Age; as his voice droned softly on, he was pleased to see that she had finished her drink and that the empty glass hung from her finger, her breathing had become slow and regular and that she was either in a deep sleep, or unconscious; he reached oer and lifted one arm, it dropped without wakening her; perfect – with the practised confidence of one who had spent all of his adult life in seducing and enjoying young women, MacFarlane gently lifted Ethel's slight figure from the sofa, and carried her upstairs and into his Playroom, locking the door behind him – although there was no-one else in the house, old habits of secrecy and security die hard and as his father had once said to him: "ye can ne'er be ower carefu', laddie; for aw ye ken, sumdy maybe's ca'ed the Peelers aboot anither metter an they micht hae the wrang address and afore ye kennit, they've battered doon yer door an fund ye in flagrante delicto wi sum wee hussy, so aye lock doors ahent ye!" and privacy had ever been his watchword; and now he had Miss Ethel le Neve, spreadeagled on the rather functional mattress of the bed in his Playroom, cuffs on her wrists and ankles and them locked onto the four rings screwed tight into the four corner posts; Ethel was naked, her skin very white, her hair, dark chestnut, and thick where it grew – he always like his women natural and had considered it a shame that Gloriana could not be persuaded that red curls would have looked better against her white skin, rather than the shaven style which gave her a pre-pubescent appearance rather at odds with her firm and ample body and her plump breasts; Ethel was small made, but the dark chestnut between her thighs looked just right, she was quite clearly a woman, and in her present state, a pleasure to be enjoyed; in a tiny, rarely used part of his mind, MacFarlane felt it was a shame that she could not say either "Yes," or "No," to what he intended, she could neither give nor withhold consent, although it was quite academic: she must, from all the allusions to sexual congress which had peppered her dissertation in the Study Group, have known what she had come here for; and he would be able to lay his hand upon a Bible and in all truthfulness, give solemn evidence to the fact that she had, indeed, implicitly given her consent; at the same time, he would have rather enjoyed a brief struggle, prior to taking the prize she had awarded him by coming here this afternoon – oh, he was no rapist, but believed that many girls say "no!" only to protect their own false concept of Virtue and a concern not to be seen as "easy" or to seem worth being fought for; they all wanted it and most would consider themselves lucky, if not actually blessed, to have been chosen by him, rather than the Butcher's boy, or some other callow, pimply youth; he put these thought out of his mind: Ethel had come here to accept his dear old Passion and it was time that Passion had his way with her; "we'll do it while she sleeps, this time, but the subsequent pleasures can be taken when she is fully compos mentis and enjoyed by both of us!" and he really, somewhere in his pickled brain, actually thought that he that was true – for, as it is put in Psychotherapy and Counselling: "I believe what I say, when I hear myself say it," which he interpreted as meaning that if he said that a woman was a Stepford, put on Earth to do as he said unquestioningly, because she accepted that her true purpose was to serve him and his pleasures. and he therefore believed and knew that it was so, only shows just how deluded Professor Sir Pontypine MacFarlane really was!