‘Never trust a gun in female hands,’ grumbled Hilary, dropping the nun’s habit and backing to join his friend. You have converted me to—Lester Ward! You are my dear friend, you are a slip of a girl, but there are moments when my head has been on your breast, when your heart has been beating close to my ears, when I have known you for the goddess, when I have wished myself your slave, when I have wished that you could kill me for the joy of being killed by you. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly.
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