In the room, blazing with sunlight, he was like a creature straight from the boards of some neighbouring theatre, even to the white powder that lay in dry flakes upon his face.
He opened his eyes, staring at the sunlight, and in their depths Harkness saw the strangest mingling of terror, pathos, eager lust, and a bewildered amazement, as though he were tranced. The gaze with which he turned to Harkness had in it a sudden appeal; then that appeal sank like light quenched by water.
He was wrung up on the instant to intensest excitement. His whole body trembled. His mouth opened as though he would speak, then closed again.
He came close to Harkness. He put out his hand and touched his neck.
"We are alone," he said, in his soft beautiful voice. He stroked Harkness's neck. The soft boneless fingers. Harkness looked at him, and, strangely, at that moment their eyes were very close to one another. They looked at one another gently. In Harkness's eyes was no malice; in Crispin's that strange mingling of lust and unhappiness.
Harkness only said: "Crispin, whatever you do to us leave that girl alone. I beg you leave her...."
He closed his eyes then. God helping him he would not speak another word. But a triumphant
