And you are mixed; you can't deny it.
You have been to see Shan Tung late at night. He was in the house with
you the first night I saw you. More than that--HE IS IN YOUR HOUSE NOW!"
She shrank back as if he had struck at her. "No, no, no," she cried.
"He isn't there. I tell you, he isn't!"
"How am I to believe you?" demanded Keith. "You have not told the truth
to McDowell. You are fighting to cover up the truth. And we know it is
because of Shan Tung. WHY? I am here to fight for you, to help you. And
McDowell, too. That is why we must know. Miss Kirkstone, do you love
the Chinaman?"
He knew the words were an insult. He had guessed their effect. As if
struck there suddenly by a painter's brush, two vivid spots appeared in
the girl's pale cheeks. She shrank back from him another step. Her eyes
blazed. Slowly, without turning their flame from his face, she pointed
to the edge of the shrubbery a few feet from where they were standing.
He looked. Twisted and partly coiled on the mold, where it had been
clubbed to death, was a little green grass snake.
"I hate him--like that!" she said.
His eyes came back to her. "Then for some reason known only to you and
Shan Tung you have sold or are intending to sell yourself to him!"
It was not a question.
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