"And I know all your
feelings and your passions, and now I have got your skin--for the joy
of my skin!" And she quivered again with the movements of a snake.
It is not difficult to imagine that Paul felt far from calm during
this scene--indeed he was obliged to hold on to his great chair to
prevent himself from seizing her in his arms.
"I'm--I'm so glad you like him," he said in a choked voice. "I thought
probably you would. And your own was not worthy of you. I found this
by chance. And oh! good God! if you knew how you are making me
feel--lying there wasting your caresses upon it!"
She tossed the scarlet rose over to him; it hit his mouth.
"I am not wasting them," she said, the innocence of a kitten in her
strange eyes--their colour impossible to define to-day. "Indeed not,
Paul! He was my lover in another life--perhaps--who knows?"
"But I," said Paul, who was now quite mad, "want to be your lover in
this!"
Then he gasped at his own boldness.
With a lightning movement she lay on her face, raised her elbows on
the tiger's head, and supported her chin in her hands. Perfectly
straight out her body was, the twisted purple drapery outlining her
perfect shape, and flowing in graceful lines beyond--like a serpent's
tail. The velvet pillows fell scattered at one side.
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