CHAPTER XXVII His idea, cleverly planned, was to shatter her resistance, to confound her suddenly by striking her mind with words which would rob her coherent thought. “You may go on with that work,” he said, “so long as you keep in harmony with things at home. She tore open the envelope and read it. He saw that his words were falling upon dull ears. Not for me. Never had he been so intrigued. It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment. Can you kill yourself?” He asked quietly. .
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