Thrilling, she began to dance, swirled, glided, and dipped. Heaven alone knows why. A moment before he had been a strong man, she had been in his power, a poor helpless thing. Her tone was hoarse with passion. She knew it. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. ‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. Away in London even now Capes was packing and preparing; Capes, the magic man whose touch turned one to trembling fire. Let us be gone. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles.
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