The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. Among the commercial enticements McClintock found a real letter. A dozen books lay upon the counterpane. The man’s passion became almost unbearable at the thought of losing her. “Annabel,” she said, “I have never asked you for your confidence. The Matriarchate! The Lords of Creation just ran about and did what they were told. It mattered not whether she flunked the year as she would soon be gone. “But who could have lent you money?” “I pawned my pearl necklace. ‘You don’t believe her?’ ‘My dear Major Alderley, I do not know her,’ Mrs Sindlesham pointed out. In this way, more than a month passed over. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes.
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