In this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. ‘Seen her again, have you? Well, if she’s been giving you as much saucy impudence as I’ve had to contend with, I can only say I’m glad of it. That night in his den he smoked many pipes. Why did I not realise it at once? It just shows how one should not judge by appearances. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. ” “I suppose all men,” said Ann Veronica, in a tone of detached criticism, “get some such entanglement. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep.
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