His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself. ‘Is that a gesture of friendship?’ She stamped her foot. Watching her strip had been delicious for him, and a part of him enjoyed her self-consciousness acutely. ‘Comment? What do you wish?’ ‘What the devil do you think you’re up to now, I’d like to know?’ Her eyes flashed. “I want you to kiss me,” she said. On the groundfloor the shutters were closed, or, to speak more correctly, altogether nailed up, and presented a very singular appearance, being patched all over with the soles of old shoes, rusty hobnails, and bits of iron hoops, the ingenious device of the former occupant of the apartment, Paul Groves, the cobbler, to whom we have before alluded.
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