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’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. “Suppose, for example, I go to this dance?” “You won’t. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. “My God!” he said again. "Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. CHAPTER XVIII. The atmosphere seemed heavy with the odour of drugs. He grabbed her wrist and prised the weapon from her fingers, ignoring her other hand that clawed at his to try to retain the trophy.
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