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“Good God!” he exclaimed. Wood, meanwhile, had summoned his men-servants, and having armed them with such weapons as could be found, they proceeded to the garden, where the first object they encountered was Thames Darrell, extended on the ground, and weltering in his blood. That was Leonardo’s motto. Against the sinister, the threatening, monstrous inhumanity of the limitless city, there was nothing now but this supreme, ugly fact of a pursuit— the pursuit of the undesired, persistent male. But Darrell averted his head. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. And I was altogether disgusted when he kissed me. His head turned sideways towards the noise, his brows scowling.
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