“Undeceive yourself: I’ll have them though you never leave this room alive.”
More to give herself time to think than in any hope of moving him, she began to plead:
“Let me have them, Victor—let me go.”
Smiling darkly, he shook his head.
“The letters mean nothing to you. What good—?”
He interrupted impatiently: “I shall publish them.”
“Impossible—!”
“But I shall.”
Aghast, she protested: “You can’t mean that!”
“Why not? The world shall know your true reason for leaving me—that you were the mistress of another man—and who that man was!”