Her soul was willing, but her body rebelled.
What folly was this?
It was the work of a moment.

George would be free.

She would have freed him.
In God's name then---- She crossed the hall softly.

Into the hell of her thoughts flashed a little womanish shame, that she, Frances Waldeaux, should be walking on tiptoe, like a thief.
She took down the package, and leaning over the table at the side of the bed, shook the white powder into the glass.

Then she went back to her room and shut the door.
The casement was open and the moonlight was white outside.