"I don't know," he replied savagely. "Perhaps he can. I hope he can. I hope he can hear every word. It wouldn't be the first time he had heard the story of his shame. And it won't be the last. Curse him!"
She tried to draw him back.
"Come away," she cried. "How can you stand in front of the poor creature, and talk like that before his face?"
His iron grip closed on her wrist, and held her helpless.
"Why not?" he demanded, with dreadful bitterness. "Why should he be spared because he is suffering a fraction of the just and natural consequences of his own deliberate acts? What is there to pity in that? It is a merciful retribution. If you have any sympathy to show—show it to me."
"To you?" she echoed.
"To me," he repeated.
She screamed, and tried to wrench herself from his grasp. The horrible head had begun to move slowly from side to side. A faint, ghastly smile appeared round the twisted lips.
"Let me go," she cried. "It's too dreadful."
He dragged her round again.