“Why?” “I still love you. A chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling her waist, bound her to the wall. And look down, so. It was a work of no slight danger, for every instant a wall, or fragment of a building, came crashing to the ground. ‘Monsieur Charvill thought perhaps that his daughter would find not a welcome. Then pain entered their depths. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. She wondered even at this late day how she had been able to hold her maddening curiosity in check.
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