what is it?’

She was silent, suffused with black rage.

‘How DARE you come brow-beating me,’ she cried, ‘how dare you, you little squire, you bully. What right have you over me, do you think?’

His face was white and gleaming, she knew by the light in his eyes that she was in his power — the wolf. And because she was in his power, she hated him with a power that she wondered did not kill him. In her will she killed him as he stood, effaced him.

‘It is not a question of right,’ said Gerald, sitting down on a chair. She watched the change in his body. She saw his clenched, mechanical body moving there like an obsession. Her hatred of him was tinged with fatal contempt.