``I ought never to touch red wine. It disagrees with
me horribly.''
``That was filthy stuff,'' said he. ``You must take
some champagne at lunch. That'll set you right.''
She stealthily wound the scarf about the papers.
When she felt that all were secure she rose. She was
looking sweet and sad and peculiarly beautiful. There
was an exquisite sheen on her skin. She had washed
her hair that morning, and it was straying fascinatingly
about her brow and ears and neck. Baird looked at
her, lowered his eyes and colored.
``I'll not be long,'' she said hurriedly.
She had to pass him in the rather narrow doorway.
From her garments shook a delicious perfume. He
caught her in his arms. The blood had flushed into his
face in a torrent, swelling out the veins, giving him
a distorted and wild expression.
``Mildred!'' he cried. ``Say that you love me a
little! I'm so lonely for you--so hungry for you!''
She grew cold with fear and with repulsion. She
neither yielded to his embrace nor shook it off.
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