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“You don’t like me at all,” he growled.
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“Perhaps I do,” she said. “Perhaps I can guess. But whatever is coming to me, as you put it, I prefer that to marrying you.”
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She had gone to bed at ten o’clock that night, and it seemed that she had hardly fallen asleep before the vision came. She struggled to sit up in bed, she tried to speak, but a big hand was over her mouth.
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She summoned all the strength at her command to shake her head.
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There was a note of savagery in his voice which made her turn sick.
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She sobbed and writhed in an agony of mind, but all the time she was breathing, she was drawing into her lungs the chloroform with which the wool was saturated.
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Chapter 15 The Commissioner Has A Theory ③