” And to that, through vast rhetorical meanderings, she clung. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. I have a weapon—a knife—and if you attempt to open the door, will plunge it to my heart. I didn’t betray you, I swear I didn’t. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. “You are a dear,” she exclaimed affectionately. Anywhere! Moonlight and music—pleasing, you know, but quite unnecessary.
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