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” He frowned heavily. “Mr. ” She thought of her father, and with an effort dismissed him from her mind. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. ” His voice assumed an easy detached tone. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. Efforts were made to staunch his wounds and surgical assistance sent for. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. “I saw—they knocked off your fetters yesterday. With a finger crooked in his side-pocket, she measured her step with his, her senses still dizzy from the echo of the magic sounds.
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