She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. ‘Come inside at once, child. “The white unaggressive woman who corrects and nurses and serves, and is worshipped and betrayed—the martyr-queen of men, the white mother. Gerald kicked the panelled wall in frustration. Before he could recover from the stunning effects of the blow, Wood possessed himself of the child: and, untying the noose which had been slipped round its throat, had the satisfaction of hearing it cry lustily. Wood gave the required promise, though he could not help thinking that if either of them had cause to be jealous he was the party. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. She dare not risk it.
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