"He held her still and close, feeling the long lenght of the young body, and he stroked her head and kissed the wet saltiness of her eyes, and as she cried he could feel the rounded, firm-pointed breasts touching through the shirt she wore.
'I cannot kiss,' she said. 'I do not know how.
'There is no need to kiss.'
'Yes. I must kiss. I must do everything.'
'There is no need to do anything. We are all right. But thou hast many clothes.'
'What should I do?'
'I will help you.'
'Is that better?'
'Yes. Much better.' "

                                                                   -- For Whom the Bell Tolls, Ernest Hemingway