His slightest move caused her infinite pleasure. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. She hesitated, and for a moment thought of omitting her second verse altogether. She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right. Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you. \" She sat down on a nearby bench. You do not believe his statement?" "I do not," replied Winifred.
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