She felt the blood racing through her like a mill-dam loosed.
She thought when first she rose to her feet--and it was as though
some strong hand had lifted her--that her limbs would refuse
obedience. A moment of emotion, that was passivity itself, obsessed
her. Then she hurried through into the other room, across to the open
window where he stood expectant. There was no thought that it was
his bedroom in which they stood--no consideration in her mind of the
observance of any narrow laws of propriety. He had asked her. She
came.
"This is the cleanest bit of luck," he said, with scarce controlled
excitement.
"What is it?" She pressed nearer to the window.
He explained. "This yard at the back belongs to some railway company
and two of their men are going to settle a difference of
opinion--that's putting it mildly--as far as I can make out they mean
business."
"What are they going to do?"
He answered her question by putting another. "You know I told you
I belonged to the National Sporting?"
"Are they going to fight?" She caught her breath, forcing back the
sense of nausea.
"Yes; bare fists with a definite end in view. Why look here--" He
took her arm and gently pulled her to the window where he was standing.
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