Why, she had all three gas-burners alight because,
having met him that night and seen him watching her, she trembled at the
faintest shadow and must see things plainly, lest their dim outlines
should appal her fancy by taking his form.
Only once had the lady of the feathers known such enfeebling terror as
this, on the night when she fled from the hotel in the Euston Road and
left Marr dying on the bed between the tall windows. More than once,
in her thoughts, had she loosely linked Marr with Valentine, puzzled,
scarcely knowing why she did so. And, she repeated the mental operation
now more definitely. They had at least one thing in common, this
extraordinary power of striking fear into her soul. And Cuckoo was
not accustomed to sit with fear. Her life had bred in her a strong,
tough-fibred restlessness. She was essentially a careless creature, ready
to argue, quarrel, hold her own with anybody, proud, as a rule, of being
a match for any man and well able to take care of herself. She had
knocked about, and was utterly familiar with many horrors of the streets,
and of nameless houses. She had heard many rows at night; had been in
brawls; had been waked, in the dense hours, by sudden sharp cries for
help; was accustomed to be alone with strangers, men of unknown history,
of unknown deeds.
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