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It was her one hot word; aimed at them all, it seemed to me to
fall like a lash on Rattray's cheek, bringing the blood to it like
lightning. But it was Santos who snatched the cigarette from his
mouth, and opened upon the defenceless girl in a torrent of
Portuguese, yellow with rage, and a very windmill of lean arms and
brown hands in the terrifying rapidity of his gesticulations. They
did not terrify Eva Denison. When Rattray took a step towards the
speaker, with flashing eyes, it was some word from Eva that checked
him; when Santos was done, it was to Rattray that she turned with
her answer.
"He calls me a liar for telling you that Mr. Cole knew all," said
she, thrilling me with my own name. "Don't you say anything," she
added, as the young man turned on Santos with a scowl; you are one
as wicked as the other, but there was a time when I thought
differently of you: his character I have always known. Of the two
evils, I prefer to speak to you."
Rattray bowed, humbly enough, I thought; but my darling's nostrils
only curled the more.
"He calls me a liar," she continued; "so may you all. Since you
have found it out, I admit it freely and without shame; one must
be false in the hands of false fiends like all of you. Weakness
is nothing to you; helplessness is nothing; you must be met with
your own weapons, and so I lied in my sore extremity to gain the
one miserable advantage within my reach. He says you found me out
by making friends with Mr. Cole. He says that Mr. Cole has been
dining with you in this very room, this very night. You still
tell the truth sometimes; has that man - that demon - told it
for once?"
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