"You want me, then?" she said. Montague Hill. All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. On the cords being removed, he made a desperate spring at Wild, bore him to the ground, clutched at his throat, and would, infallibly, have strangled him, if the keepers had not all thrown themselves upon him, and by main force torn him off. ‘I don’t want no gold! Not for serving my mistress.
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