"The key's on the outside— quick! quick!" Instantly alive to this chance, Blueskin broke away. Later that night, after she had cleaned herself and changed her clothes, he returned. His brute strength surged through her veins, she could feel his energy in her heart, his life force stolen like candy from a baby. But in a moment she believed she understood. She twisted to meet him and folded into his embrace. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. She became aware of the Scotch student regarding her with stupendous amazement, a tea-cup poised in one hairy hand and his faceted glasses showing a various enlargement of segments of his eye.
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