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Maxwell, W. B., 1866-1938

"The Devil's Garden"

"
"Go on."
"I waited in the rooms."
"Rooms! You mean one room, you slut!"
"No, there were four rooms--a grand suite."
"Go on."
"He said he would come to me next day, or Sunday at latest. And he
didn't come on Saturday--I stopped indoors all day, afraid to go out
for fear of meeting you--and he didn't come till Sunday, after lunch."
"Ah! How long did he stay?"
"Till early this morning. Will, let me be--I'm done. You're throttling
me."
"Go on. I'll 'aarve it all out of you. Begin at the beginning. It's
Sunday afternoon we're talking of--ever since lunch time. There's a
many hours to amuse yourselves."
"After dinner he made me dress up."
"What d'you mean?"
"He had brought things in his luggage--fancy dress."
"What dresses?"
"Oh, boy's things--things he'd bought in Turkey, on his travels. He
made me act that I was his page--and bring the coffee, and sit
cross-legged on the ground."
"Go on."
"No--what's the use?" She was crying now. "Oh, God have mercy, what's
the use?"
"Go on."
"No. Kill me, if you want to, and be done with it. I don't care--I'm
tired out. What I've gone through was worse than death. I'm not afraid
of dying."
She would tell him no more; she defied him; and yet he did not kill
her.


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