She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. She was feeling extraordinarily well that night, so that the sense of her body was a deep delight, a realization of a gentle warmth and strength and elastic firmness. For a moment her heart seemed to stop beating. Sheppard trembled violently; and though she understood his meaning too well, she answered,—"I can't guess. It filled her with indefinable fear. He could see lust virtually dripping from the dark-haired boy’s maw as she teased every last note from her shuddering violin, the devil in a black skirt.
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