They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them. "Take her," cried Jonathan; and, flinging the now inanimate body of the poor widow, who had fainted in the struggle, into the arms of Thames, he leapt through the window, and by the time the latter could consign her to Wood, and dart after him, he had disappeared. She bolted upright as she heard footsteps rumble towards the door, cursing UPS for being so damn persistent in such foul weather. The picture might easily apply to The Tigress: outwardly disreputable, but richly and comfortably appointed below. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone.
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