He let her hear all he had said to himself in his worst moments--all
that he had argued concerning what she and her people would do, and
what his own actions would be--all his intention to make them pay the
uttermost farthing in humiliation if he could not frustrate them.
His methods would be definite enough. He had not watched his wife and
Ffolliott for weeks to no end. He had known what he was dealing with. He
had put other people upon the track and they would testify for him. He
poured forth unspeakable statements and intimations, going, as usual,
further than he had known he should go when he began. Under the spur of
excitement his imagination served him well. At last he paused.
"Well," he put it to her, "what have you to say?"
"I?" with the remote intent curiosity growing in her eyes. "I have
nothing to say. I am leaving you to say things."
"You will, of course, try to deny----" he insisted.
"No, I shall not. Why should I?"
"You may assume your air of magnificence, but I am dealing with
uncomfortable factors." He stopped in spite of himself, and then burst
forth in a new order of rage. "You are trying some confounded experiment
on me. What is it?"
She rose from her chair to go out of the room, and stood a moment
holding her book half open in her hand.
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