Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. Most of the horses were dead, all but three stallions and two mares left among what was once a thriving stable. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. You have converted me to—Lester Ward! You are my dear friend, you are a slip of a girl, but there are moments when my head has been on your breast, when your heart has been beating close to my ears, when I have known you for the goddess, when I have wished myself your slave, when I have wished that you could kill me for the joy of being killed by you. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. Three times she escaped.
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