Gosse would have killed me, and perhaps in the fight I might kill him. Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now. And the grotesquest fact was that she did not so much loathe, as experience with a quite critical condemnation this strange sensation of being kissed. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. Melusine circled her adversary only far enough to give herself the aisle between the pews behind. He spoke only when he saw the sing-song girl he wanted to buy. 265 The madness crept around her like smoke under a door. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection.
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