The atmosphere was laden with a strange perfume.
But, above all, this room was silent, most oppressively silent.
Lady Pat started to her feet. The whole perfumed place seemed to
be swimming around her. Reclosing her eyes, she fought down her
weakness. The truth, the truth respecting Lou Chada and herself,
had uprisen starkly before her. By her own folly--and she could
find no tiny excuse--she had placed herself in the power of a man
whom, instinctively, deep within her soul, she had always known
to be utterly unscrupulous.
How cleverly he had concealed the wild animal which dwelt beneath
that suave, polished exterior! Yet how ill he had concealed it!
For intuitively she had always recognized its presence, but had
deliberately closed her eyes, finding a joy in the secret
knowledge of danger. Now at last he had discarded pretense.
The cigarette which he had offered her at the club had been
drugged. She was in Limehouse, at the mercy of a man in whose
veins ran the blood of ancestors to whom women had been chattels.
Too well she recognized that his passion must have driven him
insane, as he must know at what cost he took such liberties with
one who could not lightly be so treated. But these reflections
afforded poor consolation.
Pages:
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92