She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away. "I have killed you," cried Jack, endeavouring to staunch the effusion of blood from her breast. A shout was heard at a little distance, and, the next moment, a person rushed with breathless haste to the stair-head. “No, I administered poisons to you according to the ancient tradition. ’ Ignoring this, the major slipped his hands about her waist and lifted her to her feet. 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.
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