"I'd kill you if I could!" she muttered between her teeth.
An hour later he was roused by a slight choking cry and looked up to find Sonia sitting huddled in a heap, with her head fallen forward on her chest and her arms hanging limply to her sides. Pulling out his watch, he looked at her for a few moments, and then observed:
"You must relax all your muscles for a pukka faint, not only the neck and arms." She made no movement. "I used to sham faint on trigonometry afternoons at school," he went on, with a yawn. "Go flop on the floor and make Greenbank himself carry me out. I assure you it's not done like that, Sonia."
The limp arms gradually stiffened, and she looked round with half-opened eyes. "Where am I?"
"Some few hours from Genoa, I should think," he answered cheerfully. "I've not booked beyond Milan, so as to have complete liberty of action."
She closed her eyes and lay back. "You're killing me, David," she moaned.
He took a paper-backed novel out of his pocket and began to read it without troubling to answer.
The capitulation took place four hours later, when the dawn came stealing in at the window and illumined the dusty carriage with its cold grey light. Sonia raised a tear-stained face, and with swollen, parched lips begged for mercy. O'Rane lifted his suitcase from the rack and slowly unlocked it.
"This is unconditional?" he asked.
She nodded.