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He stood up, apparently intending to put an arm about her, but she stepped back from him quickly. What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture. Wood resounded from below. “I trust you altogether. 58 \"Why will you not touch me?\" She cried out, sitting up, her head in her hands. Trenchard was tempted to examine the contents of some of these cases, but a closer inspection made him recoil from them in disgust. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. 'But I don't desire to spoil sport,—not I.
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