"To a man who is fat and untidy, a man old enough to be my father, who treats me as if I were a thief, or a dog. I loathe him. And he detests me. You see"—she smiled ironically—"we are not very happy. I ran away from him a month ago, from Hong Kong. I ran as far as Singaraja, and now I have to go back because I have not the courage to stay away. A stronger will would make me give him up. Would make me go away, and stay. And I grabbed at you."
"As a drowning man would grab at a straw."
"Not at all! Perhaps, let us say, I had pictured such a man as you. And then you came. He will beat me when I return."
"No!"
"Yes!" She pressed down the gauzy stuff which came up almost to her throat in the form of a high "V." And across the rounded white curve of her chest were four angry red stripes, the marks of a whip.
He shuddered. "This is terrible."
"Will you help me—now?"
"What can I do? What can I do?" He was striving to adjust himself to this exceedingly difficult situation. "But I don't understand how you can place all this confidence in me."
"Because when I saw you I knew you were a man who stopped at nothing."
"But why—why does he beat you? It—it's incomprehensible!"