Wood's displeasure; and he was the more readily induced to do this, as the conversation began to turn upon his own affairs. What is it?" "Is there anything I can do?" The idiocy of the question filled him with the craving of laughter. She knew that her voice was superior to Annabel’s, and she had no further qualms. He filled her glass with champagne. In doing this, he chanced to raise his eyes and half fancied he beheld, shaded by a pillar at the extremity of the western aisle, the horrible countenance of the thief-taker. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Bit priggish, isn’t it? And if he only knew it—so absurd. I want to be myself. CHAPTER XXVII His idea, cleverly planned, was to shatter her resistance, to confound her suddenly by striking her mind with words which would rob her coherent thought. I’ve to collect my sword and hat, and then we must get back to London. Much to my amazement, as soon as I was in her presence I forgot about my magic and thought only of love.
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