‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. He embraced her like her father once had. Above her head was an aura of white fire. They were in many respects so right; she clung to that, and shirked more and more the paradoxical conviction that they were also somehow, and even in direct relation to that rightness, absurd. “Forgive me, madam,” he said stiffly, “but in such a case as this it is better that nothing in the room should be disturbed until the arrival of the police. He was not, in truth, much of a ladies’ man.
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