“Annabel,” she said slowly, “if I fight this thing out myself, can I trust you that it will not be a vain sacrifice? After what you have said it is useless for us to play with words. I was supposed to do the same, but I didn’t. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. In you—if you can love me—there is salvation. It wouldn’t be you. When I examined you for ‘ill humors’ I longed to run my hands over your entire body, to touch your face, to caress you in the places that would give you pleasure. “Okay, Mom. . Some Chinaman might take it into his head to shout: "Death to the foreign devils!" And out of that wall yonder would boil battle and murder and sudden death. ’ ‘Of course you weren’t there,’ snapped Hilary.
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