About this time there occurred at the Grand Hotel a scandal which was not calculated to alter the trend of my anxieties. Bloch's sister had for some time past been indulging, with a retired actress, in secret relations which presently ceased to suffice them. They felt that to be seen would add perversity to their pleasure, and chose to flaunt their dangerous embraces before the eyes of all the world. They began with caresses, which might, after all, be attributed to a friendly intimacy, in the card-room, round the baccarat table. Then they grew bolder. And finally, one evening, in a corner of the big ballroom that was not even dark, on a sofa, they made no more attempt to conceal what they were going than if they had been in bed.
Marcel Proust, Cities of the Plain, p. 871
Proust finally gives us more detail about the scandal featuring Bloch's sister which has referenced previously. I've talked before about the two female students I taught at Zayed University in Abu Dhabi who couldn't keep their hands off of each other during class. I suppose Proust would suggest, "They felt that to be seen would add perversity to their pleasure, and chose to flaunt their dangerous embraces before the eyes of all the world." However, is it that perverse to want to touch and be touched, especially by someone that you love? How does the wall that keeps you from doing something as simple as touching the face of the person you love cripple you emotionally?
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