It was as if the Devil himself had raped and defiled her mother. Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. It gave her great satisfaction to hear that Madame Chamberlain had spent a night in the county jail, even if the nocturnal activities picked right up again after two weeks. When he left these premises, three years ago, I took them from him; or rather—to deal frankly with you,—he placed me in them rent-free, for, I'm not ashamed to confess it, I've had losses, and heavy ones; and, if it hadn't been for him, I don't know where I should have been. ” He was suddenly resentful.
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