"Ah!" he said and was again silent.
She forced her eyes to focus on his face, while his features danced vaguely as if smoke flowed between the two of them. It was as if there were smoke in her mind as well; she made a great effort to rise above the clouds that bemused her thoughts.
"Take me home," she said. "Nicholas, I want to go home."
"Why should I?" he asked impassively. "The experiment is hardly begun."
"Experiment?" she echoed dully. "Oh, yes—experiment. I'm an experiment."
"An experiment in evil," he said.
"Yes—in evil. And I hate you! That's evil enough, isn't it?"
He reached down, lifted the bottle to the table, and methodically poured himself a drink of the liquor. He raised it, watching the oily swirls in the light, then tipped the fluid to his lips while the girl gazed at him with a sullen set to her own lips. A tiny crimson spot had appeared in the corner of her mouth; at its sting, she raised her hand and brushed it away. She stared as if in unbelief at the small red smear it left on her fingers.
"Nicholas," she said pleadingly, "won't you take me home? Please, Nicholas, I want to leave here."
"Do you hate me?" he asked, a queer twisting smile appearing on his lips.