Brendon and Courtlaw who had been watching for her, met her at the door. ‘In the bookroom, sir,’ answered the man, his eyes round as they took in the furious beauty at the visitor’s side. "You'd have hit it off better if you'd called her The Sow. I wrenched this off, and in an envelope addressed to me in faded ink, I found the locket and the pearls. The unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face—blank. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. I never made any effort to touch them; so by and by they learned to light fearlessly on my arms and shoulders. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. ‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword. “If you think it worth while,” she answered doubtfully.
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