“You did your best to kill me,” he said. Strewn across the bed was a multitude of jumbled garments. 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. "He lives at Dollis Hill, a beautiful spot near Willesden, about four or five miles from town, where he has taken a farm. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. " He did not pause to consider how she had learned that he had imagination; he comprehended only the direct challenge. Lucy collapsed to the floor in a sob.
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