"Why shouldn't I stay? He hasn't--he hasn't changed--Jack?"
The insolent black eyes looked up and scanned her slowly from head to
foot. Then he laughed in the same deliberate manner.
"No, I guess he thinks as much of you now as he ever did."
"You are lying to me," said the girl faintly, but the terror in her
eyes said another thing.
"He thinks as much of you as he ever did. He thinks as much of you as
he does of the rest of the soft-handed, pretty-faced fools who listen
to him and believe him. I suppose--"
He broke off to laugh heartily again, with a jarring, forced note
which escaped Mary.
"I suppose that he made love to you one minute and the next told you
that bad luck--something about the cross--kept him away from you?"
Each slow word was like a blow of a fist. Mary closed her eyes to shut
out the scorn of that handsome, boyish face; closed her eyes to summon
out from the dark of her mind the picture of Pierre le Rouge as he had
told her of his love; and then she heard the voice of Pierre
renouncing her.
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