“Yes,” she said, almost as though to herself. “Within, I’m ice. I believe that’s true.”
“True!” he repeated. “Of course it’s true. If it were not——”
A slight smile tilted her mouth.
“Well?” she echoed. “If it were not?”
He swung round. With a quick stride he was beside her. His eyes blazing with a sudden fury of passion and resentment, he caught her by the shoulders, forcing her to face him.
“God!” he muttered thickly. “What are you made of? You make men go through hell for you! Even here—here in this little country place—you do it! Storran’s wife—one can see her heart breaks, and it is you who are breaking it. Yet nothing touches you! You’ve no conscience like other women—no heart—”
Magda pulled herself out of his grasp.
“Oh, do forget that I’m a woman, Davilof! I’m a dancer. Nothing else matters. I don’t want to be troubled with a heart. And—and I think they left out my soul.”
“Yes,” he agreed with intense bitterness. “I think they did. One day, Magda some man will kill you. You’ll try him too far.”
“Indeed? Is that what you contemplate doing when you finally lose patience with me?”