Again and yet again her weary brain reviewed the episodes of the night
since she had left Cyrus Kilfane's flat, so that nearly an hour had
elapsed before she felt capable of the operation of undressing.
Finally, however, she undressed, shuddering although the room was
warmed by an electric radiator. The weakness and sickness had left
her, but she was quite wide awake, although her brain demanded rest
from that incessant review of the events of the evening.
She put on a warm wrap and seated herself at the dressing-table,
studying her face critically. She saw that she was somewhat pale and
that she had an indefinable air of dishevelment. Also she detected
shadows beneath her eyes, the pupils of which were curiously
contracted. Automatically, as a result of habit, she unlocked her
jewel-case and took out a tiny phial containing minute cachets. She
shook several out on to the palm of her hand, and then paused, staring
at her reflection in the mirror.
For fully half a minute she hesitated, then:
"I shall never close my eyes all night if I don't!" she whispered, as
if in reply to a spoken protest, "and I should be a wreck in the
morning."
Thus, in the very apogee of her resolve to reform, did she drive one
more rivet into the manacles which held her captive to Kazmah and
Company.
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