So far she had the utmost difficulty in getting on to that vitally important matter. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. Was this the result of some strange experiment? It was the person of Annabel Pellissier—the soul of a very different order of being. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. Then he stepped briskly to his feet and bent over the wounded man. You are the one person I can understand and feel—feel right with. “I am under police surveillance,” she said. He drew a little breath of relief.
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