It was no use to struggle now, and she was still, like some wild bird. But she knew that she was really his, and was glad of it. And she looked up at him and said, very softly, “Geoffrey, we are wasting time.”
“Oh, no, not at all,” said Geoffrey.
“But we are.”
“Say that you love me.”
“But haven’t I—ah, Geoffrey, please don’t begin again.”
“Say that you love me.”
She did.
Then, taking his hand, she led him to the door she had opened. He stared at the crocodile, at the wine-cups, and then he picked up a sheet of iron and a metal torch.
“I suppose it is their museum,” he said; “don’t you?”
“Their museum! Geoffrey, think a little.”