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"Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell. Charvill’s fury was burning out. "Come here," said the petticoated tyrant. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. And what will they do, and where will they go?" "With me—the both of them. Small blame to her. It was astonishing how seldom it was that his instincts betrayed him. ” “Not for you?” “No.
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