She drew a breath, and sighed it out. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. ‘I don’t know that I dare. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. I don’t want to hear you. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze.
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