“Because I hate you!” She spat. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. The room was reeling, or was it that she was going to faint? She recovered herself with a supreme effort. " "No more of this," interrupted Thames, "you make the matter worse by these excuses. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. But he dismissed that because then she would ask her lover and not him all these things. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. The first peg was torture.
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