This time she feinted as his point came up to deflect her own, and disengaging, passed under and cut at his cheek. ‘That little kiss cost him his sanctuary, my girl, and don’t you forget it. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl.
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