"Cease your confounded clutter!" said a young man, whose swarthy visage, seen in the torchlight, struck Wood as being that of a Mulatto. This left Spurlock alone. “I’m so glad you’re here, Peter,” she said. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease. She studied her form in the full length mirror, assessed 69 her body as one would that of a prize calf, trying to see it through his eyes, through the eyes of desire. In addition, the Fadden Dance business, all out of proportion, occupied the whole foreground of her thoughts and threw a color of rebellion over everything.
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