I want to get away—to go to London. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. He'll be here two or three days. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. For hats that fail and hats that flare; Toppers their universal wear; A man scores always, everywhere. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. A loud buzz of curiosity circulated among the domestics; some of whom— especially the females—leaned forward to obtain a peep at the culprit.
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