She crawled underneath the soft white sheets, reclining and pulling the blankets up to her chin. Rage flooded her at his intent, but she controlled it. “It was perhaps my fault. "Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely. The cell in which she was confined was about six feet long and four wide; the walls were scored all over with fantastic designs, snatches of poetry, short sentences and names,—the work of its former occupants, and of its present inmate. ‘—without telling her why,’ he finished, ignoring the interjection. Wood's anxiety to please her distinguished guests speedily displayed itself in a very plentiful, if not very dainty repast. She did not resist him, she could not. He opened the drawer of the writing table.
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