For the first time that day, she was finally able to look into his face. The white cloth was instantly dyed with crimson; but, regardless of this, Jonathan continued his murderous assault. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. And yet he knew that his skill was equal to that of any fashionable practitioner in Hong-Kong. Drink the toast, Jack. He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and senseless things.
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