“Get your things on and come out. We can take in a roof-garden.”
“I've told you I'm not doing that sort of thing.”
He was ugly in a flash.
“You've got somebody else on the string.”
“Honestly, no. There—there has never been anybody else, Palmer.”
He caught her suddenly and jerked her toward him.
“You let me hear of anybody else, and I'll cut the guts out of him!”
He held her for a second, his face black and fierce. Then, slowly and inevitably, he drew her into his arms. He was drunk, and she knew it. But, in the queer loyalty of her class, he was the only man she had cared for. She cared now. She took him for that moment, felt his hot kisses on her mouth, her throat, submitted while his rather brutal hands bruised her arms in fierce caresses. Then she put him from her resolutely.
“Now you're going.”
“The hell I'm going!”