"Good, John Keith. It is
easily guessed. Your life is mine. I can save it. I can destroy it. And
you, in turn, can be of service to me. You help me, and I save you. It
is a profitable arrangement. And we both are happy, for you keep
Derwent Conniston's sister--and I--I get my golden-headed goddess,
Miriam Kirkstone!"
"That much I have guessed," said Keith. "Go on!" For a moment Kao
seemed to hesitate, to study the cold, gray passiveness of the other's
face. "You love Derwent Conniston's sister," he continued in a voice
still lower and softer. "And I--I love my golden-headed goddess. See!
Up there on the dais I have her picture and a tress of her golden hair,
and I worship them."
Colder and grayer was Keith's face as he saw the slumbering passion
burn fiercer in Kao's eyes. It turned him sick. It was a terrible thing
which could not be called love. It was a madness. But Kao, the man
himself, was not mad. He was a monster. And while the eyes burned like
two devils, his voice was still soft and low.
"I know what you are thinking; I see what you are seeing," he said.
"You are thinking yellow, and you are seeing yellow. My skin! My
birthright! My--" He smiled, and his voice was almost caressing.
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