‘Nothing of the sort,’ argued Gerald. " The Wastrel rushed. She shuddered, adding confidentially, ‘You wouldn’t get me in there now, mind. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. What you would look upon as immorality is here merely an established custom, three thousand years older than Christianity, accepted with no more ado than that which would accompany you should you become a clerk in a shop. "Do you realize that you are several kinds of a damned scoundrel?" he began. His grip twisted her wrist. One she entered and met with a sharp rebuff, which she appeared to receive unmoved.
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