CHAPTER XVIII. Fool that I was to marry for beauty! I ought to have remembered that a fair woman and a slashed gown always find some nail in the way. “And to think that it’s not a full year ago since I was a black-hearted rebel school-girl, distressed, puzzled, perplexed, not understanding that this great force of love was bursting its way through me! All those nameless discontents—they were no more than love’s birth-pangs. " "Ah! Sometimes I wonder I don't run amok and kill someone," said the Wastrel, in broken English. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. " "And why not, old saltwater?" inquired Ben, turning a quid in his mouth.
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