Muriel
longed intensely to shut it out, to stop her ears, to make some noise
to drown it. Her nerves were all on edge, and she felt as if its
persistent sweetness would drive her mad.
Surely Nick felt the same; but if he did, he made no sign. He stood
without movement with his face to the night, gripping the woodwork of
the window with both hands, every bone of them standing out in sharp,
skeleton lines.
She watched him, fascinated, for a long time, but he did not stir from
his tense position. He seemed to have utterly forgotten her presence
in the room behind him. And still that maddening waltz kept on and on
and on till she felt sick and dazed with listening to it. It seemed as
if for the rest of her life she would never again be free from those
haunting strains.
The soft shutting of the window made her start and quiver. Nick had
moved at last, and her heart began to throb thick and fast as he
turned. She tried to read his face, but she could not even see
it. There was a swimming mist before her eyes, and her limbs felt
powerless, heavy as lead.
In every nerve, she felt him drawing near, and in an agony of
helplessness she awaited him, all the surging horror of that night
when he had drugged her rushing back upon her with tenfold force.
Again she saw him as she had seen him then, monstrous, silent,
terrible, a man of superhuman strength, whose mastery appalled
her.
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