“Will you come in, Sir John. His brute strength surged through her veins, she could feel his energy in her heart, his life force stolen like candy from a baby. Are you going to write a novel?” “Not I,” she answered gaily. She was marvellously pretty, but he was not quite sure—yet—that it was advisable for him to sit with her in so public a place. Never again to be alone! To fit herself into this man's life as a hand into a glove; to use all her skill to force him into the position of depending upon her utterly; to be the spark to the divine fire! He should have his book, even if it had to be written with her heart's blood.
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