Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. There was a stain of wine upon her dress. She made a quick movement, and the hand fell away. And, with a glance of malignant exultation, he quitted the vault, and locked the door. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. She could not feel her own body. "To-morrow it will be mine. "Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. He watched her, savoring her curious attention.
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