It was as if her aesthetic sense had become inflamed. Someone, it appeared, was trying to profit from that fact. “You are coming my way,” Courtlaw answered. I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel. He's young and sound. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. The white haze of poison clouded her eyes. Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. And then they talked of Anarchism and Socialism, and whether the former was the exact opposite of the latter or only a higher form.
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