“Didn’t you?”
“What happens to a man when he—does a thing like that?”
“He gets jugged.”
“Did he get jugged?”
“Well, that wasn’t the part that interested me.”
An odd picture presented itself to Nancy’s mind of the men of the world engaged in one grand mêlée of brawling; struggling, belaying one another with their bare fists, drawing blood; brutes turned on brutes.
“Men are queer things,” she said.
Dick’s face was turned away from her. It was not at the moment a face she would have recognized. The eyes were contracted: the nostrils quivering: the teeth set.
“I’m always at your service, Nancy,” he said 285 presently. “Is there anything in the world you want that I can get for you?”
“The only thing I want is something you can’t get?”