“Some names sting the tongue,” I said quietly.
He lifted his head and looked at the cold blue sky.
“True,” he said. “And the brush of some lips the mouth.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” said I.
“Tell me,” he said, frowning. “Did she go back to you?”
“She did,” said I: “to die.”
“I thought she would,” said Perowne.
“Forgive me,” said I. “You thought she wouldn’t dare.” He started. “You
used her love for me to bind her feet. That’s how you held her, you
rotten loose-lipped thief. . . trading on her devotion to another man.
. . . And then at the last, poor lady, she called her bully’s bluff,
stared Blackmail out of countenance, and came back.”
The fellow’s face was livid: his eyes like swords. For a moment he stood
trembling, with fists clenched. Then he seemed to think better of his
valour and, clapping his hands behind him, threw himself back with a
jerk against the spare wheel.
“And now you’re out for blood?” he burst out presently.