It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. "Set your prisoner free!" returned Wood. "Yes; and I hope you'll take ample vengeance upon him," said Quilt. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. A crisis had been reached, and she was almost glad it had been reached. She packed her things, then ran a mile to Julian’s apartment. Though not much passed the middle term of life, he seemed prematurely stricken with old age. And, also, she wanted to borrow that money. All her protests seemed stifled before she could find words to utter them. She would just walk out of the house and go.
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