He came to her and stood before her, waiting, the morning light dazzling his eyes. She had resisted as long as she could; then she had stolen over. They came teeming distressfully through her aching brain: “A man can kick, his skirts don’t tear; A man scores always, everywhere. But though the breach was large enough to admit him below, he could not squeeze his bulky person through the aperture into the Red Room. He was now aided with a powerful implement, with which he soon contrived to make a hole in the wall. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. She dived at once behind the cover of the lamproom and affected serious trouble with her shoe-lace until he was out of the station, and then she followed slowly and with extreme discretion until the bifurcation of the Avenue from the field way insured her escape. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood.
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