dBooks desire

She sank back in her chair
wearily. ``I shall never go back,'' she said.
He looked at her, his face devoid of expression, but
she had a sense of malignance unutterable eying her
from behind a screen. He said: ``I see you've
misunderstood my generosity. You think I'm weak where
you are concerned because I've come to you instead of
doing as I said and making you come to me.'' He rose.
``Well, my offer to you is closed. And once more I
say, you will come to me and ask to be taken back. I
may or may not take you back. It depends on how
I'll feel at that time.''
Slowly, with his ludicrously pompous strut, he
marched to the drawing-room door. She had not felt
like smiling, but if there had been any such inclination
it would have fled before the countenance that turned
upon her at the threshold. It was the lean, little face
with the funny toupee and needle-like mustache and
imperial, but behind it lay a personality like the dull,
cold, yellow eyes of the devil-fish ambushed in the hazy
mass of dun-colored formlessness of collapsed body
and tentacles.


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