"He's audacity enough for anything. He kissed her neck, moving down to her breasts, trying to consume her with passion. She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. “I have been very selfish,” she declared.
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