What is it?" "Is there anything I can do?" The idiocy of the question filled him with the craving of laughter. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. I wouldn't touch the stuff for all the pearls in India. "Do you think I'd part with the sweetest morsel of revenge on those terms? No! But I'll have the secret out of you by other means. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. ‘Never mind where.
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