I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. “I have my methods. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. Not a moment is to be lost. He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening. As a man, Sebastian had always held enough power to live in luxury. As for himself, there had never been a touch of it. Shamefaced curiosities began to come back into her mind, thinly disguised as literature and art. But no more of that. In lieu of the substantial habitations which he had gazed on overnight, he beheld a row of falling scaffoldings, for such they seemed. ’ ‘I had never the intention to tell you anything, pig!’ Gosse moved forward a little.
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