CHAPTER XII. “I want my life to be beaten gold just in order to make it a fitting setting for yours. Charcoal, you may bring in the boy. "I don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, "but I've a strange foreboding of ill. 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. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. Sebastian leapt down into the crypt. Thank him, not me, man. Your mother arrived, and she knew me for what I was, she whispered to me curses against werewolves and vampires when I was alone in a room with her. But ——” A look checked him. But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad. Her family had hosted a feast in his honor for which they had taken weeks to prepare: with braised capons and lobster sausages and all sorts of delicious spiced stews her mother had made from secret recipes. She had denied it with vigor, and here she was! She did not so much exhaust this general question as pass from it to her insoluble individual problem again: “What am I to do?” She wanted first of all to fling the forty pounds back into Ramage’s face.
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