The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. He kissed her once on the lips with a passion of which, during all their days of married life, he had given no sign. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. She had not at first the power for concealment. Her heart full of dread, she dragged on it. But she made a pretence of struggling a little, for it would be out of character for her not to do so and she did not want to arouse his suspicions. When the carpenter a moment afterwards stretched out his hand, scarcely knowing whether he was alive or dead, he found himself alone. You can give up thinking and leave all the brain work to her. ‘What do you want with me? Why did you catch me?’ ‘You intrigue me,’ he told her frankly. What the editor had to say none of the three cared just then. She had heard Alice talking and crying at the same time, a painful noise. When he faced Spurlock, the granite was cracked and rived; never had Spurlock seen such dumb agony in human eyes. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed.
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