“Valerie Keat, think of your father!”
She flushed beneath her painted mask.
“You keep his name out of this,” she flashed. “Run along now to your damnation infants.”
“You say this to me?” His voice was wild. “To me? After my sacrifice?”
“Your sacrifice?” she jeered. “Do you tell all the others that?”
He reeled.
“The others?” he exclaimed aghast, “it’s a lie, a shameful lie, I tell you.”
“They all pull that one,” she gibed.
“All? All? Then there have been others, Valerie Keat? Then I was naught but the plaything of an idle hour?”
“Naught,” she replied.