“There,” he said, “you don’t treat me fairly, Miss Stanley. . . " The hooting was instantaneously changed to cheers. Would you tell her … now?" his eyes flaming with mockery. The ragged edge. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. Lucy sat beside him. I will no longer be a burthen to those upon whom I have no claim, but compassion. You have converted me to—Lester Ward! You are my dear friend, you are a slip of a girl, but there are moments when my head has been on your breast, when your heart has been beating close to my ears, when I have known you for the goddess, when I have wished myself your slave, when I have wished that you could kill me for the joy of being killed by you.
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