She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. His pipe hung dead in his teeth, but the smoke was dense about him. All the events of the previous day rushed to his recollection; and though he had been unintentionally the cause of his mother's death, he reproached himself as severely as if he had been her actual murderer. Wood, delighted at the idea. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. “You’re not interested in politics?” he asked, almost with a note of protest. “Her husband was a county councillor, and she has a niece who comes to see her in a carriage. ‘I must get a handkerchief. This gloom was impossible. He kissed her neck, moving down to her breasts, trying to consume her with passion. I’m taking no chances.
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