"
She had not dropped her whip, and she held it tight. If, when the
moonlight revealed the pile of hop poles to him, he suspected and sprang
at them to tear them away, she would be given strength to make one
spring, even in her agony, and she would strike at his eyes--awfully,
without one touch of compunction--she would strike--strike.
There was a brief silence, and then a match was struck again, and almost
immediately she inhaled the fragrance of an excellent cigar.
"I am going to have a comfortable smoke and stroll about--always within
sight and hearing. I daresay you are watching me, and wondering what
will happen when I discover you, I can tell you what will happen. You
are not a hysterical girl, but you will go into hysterics--and no one
will hear you."
(All the power of her--body and soul--in one leap on him and then a lash
that would cut to the bone. And it was not a nightmare--and Rosy was
at Stornham, and her father looking over steamer lists and choosing his
staterooms.)
He walked about slowly, the scent of his cigar floating behind him.
She noticed, as she had done more than once before, that he seemed to
slightly drag one foot, and she wondered why. The wind was blowing the
mist away, and there was a faint growing of light.
Pages:
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905