’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. She put out her hands to avoid his embrace. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. Prudence attacked her chicken wing. ” “Damn!” he remarked at the defaced letter; and, taking a fresh sheet, he recopied what he had written. “I remember it very well indeed. ” She smiled at him, an understanding smile, but her words defied him. This whole affair is truly my fault.
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