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Therefore, although every nerve in my body shrank from the whisky-maddened figure which I pictured in the room above, I still answered, in as careless a voice as I could command, that I was ready to go. Some further remark of Lord Roxton's about the danger only made me irritable. "Talking won't make it any better," said I. "Come on." I rose from my chair and he from his.
Cunningham above, struggling with the whisky-maddened Flint Cleigh fighting in the passage! Dear God, what had happened? Where was Denny? The question let loose in her heart and mind all that was emotional, at the same time enchaining her to the spot where she stood. Denny! Why, she loved Denny! And she had not known it consciously until this moment.
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