"Moore—Moore——" This was again the sleepy voice of Anthony.
A garish, gray figure arose and stumbled into the candle-light. It was Anthony. His eyes were half shut. He seemed desperately sleepy, and gibbering as if in a dream.
Peter turned savagely upon the girl. She seemed to cower away from him, half lifting her hands as though in fear that he would strike her.
"Romola! Damn you——"
"Peter, I—I——" Her faint voice trickled off into a sigh of anguish.
"Drugs?" he demanded.
She shook her head anxiously.
"No, no. I—I——"
"What have you done to these people? What have you——"
She lifted up her head imperiously. "You are forgetting——" she began.