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What are you after?’ ‘But my pistol and dagger, imbecile,’ she exclaimed impatiently, moving sharply back. Once he had managed to stake his claim, she would have all to do to prove her identity and win it back. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. And now her mind was so full of the thought that she was in love—in love!—that marvellous state! that I really believe she had some dim idea of talking to him about it. "No, Rollo; not this afternoon. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason.
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