Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. Stanley poured wine. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. Her back arched slightly in response. He rolled onto his belly, freeing himself from her hands, pushing her away. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress.
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