It was the only time she had ever hit him, punched him right in the stomach like one of his favorite Three Stooges episodes. She knew the story only imperfectly, and followed it now with a passionate and deepening interest. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. To his astonishment and delight it yielded to the pressure, toppled over the ledge, and sank. He took her there on the cold, dirty floor, his nails digging into her back, his teeth sinking into her breasts. There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort. These fellows must be right,” he added thoughtfully, “and yet—there’s a mystery somewhere. I met her when we were both very young, as young as you are. ” He walked from his door frame to stand nearer to her.
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