"We've missed nothing"—a sudden and curious tremor set her heart and pulses beating heavily—"I tell you, Duane, it doesn't matter whom people of our sort marry because we'll always sicken of our bargain. What chance for happiness would I run with such a man as you? Or you with a girl like me?"
She lay back among the cushions, with a tired little laugh. "We are like the others of our rotten sort, only less aged, less experienced. But we have, each of us, our own heritage, our own secret depravity." She hesitated, reddening, caught his eye, stammered her sentence to a finish and flinched, crimsoning to the roots of her hair.
He stood up, paced the room for a few moments, came and stood beside her.
"Once," he said very low, "you admitted that you dare go anywhere with me. Do you remember?"
"Yes."
"Those are your rooms, I believe," pointing to a closed door far down the south corridor.
"Yes."
"Take me there now."
"I—cannot do that——"
"Yes, you can. You must."