he reiterated in a dangerous narrowed voice — ’tell me what it is that fascinates you in him.’

‘I am not fascinated,’ she said, with cold repelling innocence.

‘Yes, you are. You are fascinated by that little dry snake, like a bird gaping ready to fall down its throat.’

She looked at him with black fury.

‘I don’t choose to be discussed by you,’ she said.

‘It doesn’t matter whether you choose or not,’ he replied, ‘that doesn’t alter the fact that you are ready to fall down and kiss the feet of that little insect. And I don’t want to prevent you — do it, fall down and kiss his feet. But I want to know, what it is that fascinates you —