Like a trollop in heat. He looked at her, hurt. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. I don’t mind telling you chaps that except on the stage I haven’t set eyes on her this side of the water. She went up-stairs and hesitated between four doors with ground-glass panes, each of which professed “The Women’s Bond of Freedom” in neat black letters. Perhaps that was the reason why she enjoyed preparing suppers at the Becks. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night. He must not in any way call their attention to it. She pushed him gently on the chest.
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