She thought of the marvellous beauty of skin, and all the delightfulness of living texture. "I have some difficulty in preventing myself from becoming your executioner. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. She could not bear the shame of it. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger. They talked lightly but confidentially until Sir John approached them with a slight frown upon his face. "Because she's a fire-opal, and to the world at large they bring bad luck. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean. It developed into a sort of secret and private bad manners. She interrupted. Which were perfectly true, as Gerald was aware. She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it. Gerald instantly took her arm and guided her back to her chair. Some of your sex, I mean. Figg! In a few minutes, all will be over.
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