“But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. He took her there on the cold, dirty floor, his nails digging into her back, his teeth sinking into her breasts. CHAPTER VI. A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued.
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