She felt anger at Sebastian, anger at the thrill that she felt in her loins upon seeing him, anger at herself for never having the courage to end her own life. In a tall glass the rind of a Syrian orange was arranged in spiral form. ‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. The service had not proceeded far, when she was greatly disturbed by the entrance of a person who placed himself opposite her, and sought to attract her attention by a number of little arts, surveying her, as he did so, with a very impudent and offensive stare. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it.
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