And yet that could not be: it was a confession only in the event of his death. His eyes were narrow with desire like a panther’s as he grinned at seeing her visibly satisfied. That is an evil place!” She cried. Something in her tone made him look up. She paused. \" \"It's Diedermayer. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. A piece of seaweed touched her hand, tender and green. His shirt also was unbuttoned, and disclosed a neck like that of an ox, and a chest which might have served as a model for a Hercules. She is a fortune-teller and a vessel for man’s pleasure.
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