Well, kill me. Chapter Eight For an instant in the silence that followed, shocked into immobility, Melusine stared in horror at the body lying there so still. You have actually given up a dinner-party to dine alone with me. Don’t you care for Nigel at all?” Anna was silent for a moment or two. “I can’t keep away from you. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. Kneebone assured her that he did say so; and, as a further proof of his sincerity, squeezed her hand very warmly under the table. But you must leave us now, dear Winny, Jack and I have something to settle between ourselves.
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