Then he became conscious of Manon. She was standing between him and Brent, but a little to one side, her face white and stiff with a vague, shocked wonder. She seemed to hesitate, her impulse stooping towards the man who now lay huddled in the corner.
Suddenly she turned on Bibi. Her lips were thin, bloodless; she looked starved, but in her eyes there was something indescribable, a facing of the ultimate vileness of Bibi’s strength, a defiance of physical defeat.
“Yes, and what next?”
Bibi seemed to rear on his haunches, his hands stuck in his pockets.
“Your fellow is thrashed. He is no good, is he? I can take what I want, my dear. What do you say?”
She hung her head as though beaten, her wits struggling against a sense of helplessness.
“And all this happens, because a silly ruin is blown down by the wind.”
“You got in my way, both of you.”
“We were here, that’s all. Haven’t you any decent feeling?”
Bibi looked at her with flat eyes that gloated. The physical rage was still strong in him, and he was taking his triumph.