" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. “You are the type that I want to marry someday, you’ve got a beautiful body, such pretty eyes. God knows how you did it. ‘This is not a place for a man. The scrutiny of any strange man provoked a sweaty terror. I’ll give you, say, thirty-five guineas a week clear of expenses, and half of anything you earn above the two turns a night. ‘Can I not leave you for a day without you getting yourself into trouble?’ ‘Imbecile,’ she uttered faintly.
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