He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. With a little more meat on him, he would be handsome. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. That last year in Paris, when Annabel and she had lived in different worlds, had often been a nightmare to her. ’ She shuddered, throwing her hands over her face.
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