He knew that, for some inexplicable reason, this
woman behind the screen had lied to him--in the controlling of
her speech, in her charge of voice. There had been one moment
in which an impulse or an emotion had almost found voice; then
training, instinct, or it might have been diplomacy, had
conquered, and the moment had passed. There was a riddle in
the very atmosphere of the place--and he abominated riddles.
But Lady Astrupp was absorbed in her own concerns. Again she
changed her position; and to Loder, listening attentively, it
seemed that she leaned forward and examined his hands afresh.
The sensation was so acute that he withdrew them
involuntarily.
Again there was a confused rustle; the crystal ball rolled
from the table, and the seer laughed quickly. Obeying a
strenuous impulse, Loder rose.
He had no definite notion of what he expected or what he must
avoid. He was only conscious that the pavilion, with its silk
draperies, its scent of musk, and its intolerable secrecy, was
no longer endurable.
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