While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. She wished she had not stood up. “The man alone could supply any, and if he recovers sufficiently to say anything, what he would say would exonerate you. “Ass!” he went on, still warming. She felt his erection against her naked thigh. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. Never really thought about Him—people don’t.
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