With an open hand, he slapped her face. Look in the small hide-bound book that he keeps in his boot. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins. Scarcely any one noticed the full measure of her consternation. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. Only you seem to me since the time when I knew you in Paris to have changed—to have changed in some subtle manner which I find at times utterly bewildering. Shocked and appalled, she brought her left knee up fast, ramming his testicles swiftly. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself.
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