Her eyes dwelt upon
Burke with undisguised admiration.
"You've given him a good dose this time," she remarked. "Serve him
right--the dirty hound! Hope it'll be a lesson to the rest of
'em," and she shot a glance at Piet Vreiboom which was more
eloquent than words.
She held the glass to Kieff's lips with a contemptuous air, and
when he had drunk she emptied the dregs upon the floor and marched
back into the office.
"Now," Burke said again, "you will apologize."
And so at last in a voice so low as to be barely audible, Saul
Kieff, from whose sneer all women shrank as from the sting of a
scorpion, made unreserved apology to the girl he had plotted to
ruin. At Burke's behest he withdrew the vile calumny he had
launched against her, and he expressed his formal regret for the
malice that had prompted it.
When Burke let him go, no one attempted to offer him help. There
was probably not a man present from whom he would have accepted it.
He slunk away like a wounded beast, staggering, but obviously
intent upon escape, and the gathering shadows of the coming night
received him.
A murmur as of relief ran round the circle of spectators he left
behind, and in a moment, as it were automatically, the general
attention was turned upon Sylvia. She was still leaning against
Kelly, her death-white face fixed and rigid.
Pages:
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373