Women had found paradise in his arms before now—and told him so, with considerable emphasis and eloquence. He had accepted the assurance cheerfully, because he had not really cared whether they found paradise or only the Champs Elysees, so long as the place was a pleasant one.
I adore Lord Peter Wimsey–he of whom the novelist Dorothy L. Sayers writes here–and I would seek paradise in his arms for a few minutes in a heartbeat were he not a fictional character. Wait. I can totally seek paradise in his arms for an eternity BECAUSE he is a fictional character. The beauty of fiction…