She fought him at first, screaming at him, but he did not relent. I'll be with you in a jiffy. But it would serve. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. Her lips came together with an expression between contentment and the faintest shadow of a smile, her manner was one of quiet reserve, and behind this mask she was wildly discontented and eager for freedom and life. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application.
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