" "Two can play at that game, my blood," replied Sheppard, rising, and putting himself into a posture of defence. “His stipend forbade it,” she said, and seemed to fall into a train of thought. "What is your name?" To-day, however, he broke the monotony. Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. Then he relaxed back a little, and let the weapon dangle from his fingers. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. Befuddle yourself, if you want to.
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