CHAPTER XVII. He delayed the blow till the fortunate conjuncture was past. The young man looked at her. Every drop of blood in her body glowed and expanded. And, now, to find a messenger. I thank God for His sunlight on your face. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. To O'Higgins—for all his sordid business he was not insensible to beauty—to O'Higgins she appeared to have entered the room with the light. Glancing around his prison, he began to think it possible he might effect an escape from it. He laid her on their old bed and kissed her from head to toe. “Someone must have found it and taken good care of it.
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