’ She sipped at the liquid in her glass, but her eyes remained fixed, rather unnervingly, on Gerald. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. She must kill this man, or kill herself. Wood. Her tone was hoarse with passion. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious.
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