She screamed as she saw that their throats had been ripped out and their dead eyes bulged with horror as their heads lolled from mere strings of sinew and flesh. Ah, but she could remember; and many things there were that she would never forgive. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes. Wood grasped his companion's arm to attract his attention to this unexpected means of escape.
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