“What proof do you want?”
“Something definite.... You pledge yourself to me?” A movement of her head assented. “You will give yourself back to me?” He came nearer, but she contrived to repeat the sign of assent. “Wholly, without reserve?”
An invincible disgust shook her as the full sense of his insistence struck home. Still she whipped herself to play out the scene—and win!
“As you say, Victor, as you will....”
He moved still nearer. She became conscious of his nearness as if a palpable aura of vileness emanated from his person.
“Then give me proof—here and now.”
“How?”
He laughed a throaty, evil laugh. “Need you ask? Not much, my Sofia ... only a little ... something on account ...” Suddenly she could no more: memories unspeakable rose like disturbed dregs to the surface of her consciousness. Involuntarily, not knowing what she did, she flung out an arm and struck down his hands.
“You—leper!”
The epithet was like a knout cutting through the decayed fibre of the man and raising a livid welt on his diseased soul. Galled beyond endurance, his countenance convulsed with fury, he struck wickedly; and the vicious blow of his open palm across her mouth brought flecks of blood to the lips as her teeth cut into the tender flesh.