She hated living like that. When her shock and the headache subsided, and she remembered that she had been reading the letter when Gosse had accosted her, she looked for it in vain. “Quite right,” she said. I have suffered too much from your treachery. He will return, and you shall be awaiting his arrival!” When her own underarms and groin turned pink, then blue, then black, she confined herself to bed. In a side-glance—for the floor was variously encumbered with overturned objects—he saw one of his paper weights, a coloured glass ball such as McClintock used in trade. Then her fingers moved. “I’ll go,” he said, “but I warn you that I shall find you out. "I'm tired of the life I'm leading. I’d rather starve!” For a moment the conversation hung upon that declaration.
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