“I can’t keep away from you. . We have known men who have come here for no other purpose than to prove their unassailable virtue, who have strode into the arena of temptation, waving the—the what is it—the white flower of a blameless life, only to exchange it with marvellous facility for the violets of the Parisienne. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. Prior to the great adventure, her mirrors had been the still pools in the rocks after the ebb. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. . "So, stir your stumps, Saint Giles; and, if you mean to lock us up, use despatch.
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