She
quivered with passion, and Pyne, perceiving his mistake too late, only
preserved his wonted composure by dint of a great effort. He grasped
Lola and drew her down on to the arm of the chair by sheer force, for
she resisted savagely. His ready wit had been at work, and:
"What a little spitfire you are," he said, firmly grasping her arms,
which felt rigid to the touch. "Surely you can understand? Rita amused
me, at first. Then, when I found she was going to marry Monte Irvin I
didn't bother about her any more. In fact, because I like and admire
Irvin, I tried to keep her away from the dope. We don't want trouble
with a man of that type, who has all sorts of influence. Besides,
Monte Irvin is a good fellow."
Gradually, as he spoke, the rigid arms relaxed and the lithe body
ceased to quiver. Finally, Lola sank back against his shoulder,
sighing.
"I don't believe you," she whispered. "You are telling me lies. But
you have always told me lies; one more does not matter, I suppose. How
strong you are. You have hurt my wrists. You will smoke with me now?"
For a moment Pyne hesitated, then:
"Very well," he said. "Go and lie down. I will roast the chandu."
CHAPTER XVIII
THE DREAM OF SIN SIN WA
For a habitual opium-smoker to abstain when the fumes of chandu
actually reach his nostrils is a feat of will-power difficult
adequately to appraise.
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