It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. And then came the vile experience of being forced and borne along the street to the police-station. CHAPTER XXVII. ” She roused herself from some dream at the word. “Why not?” he exclaimed. He worried me to marry him. At one time, she determined to go to Wych Street, and ask Mr. “You are very kind to think of it,” she said, “but—don’t you think perhaps—that I had better not?” He smiled indulgently. She wanted him so badly it hurt. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate.
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