He gets hold of men like Denzil." "Denzil has queer tastes." "Yes--he worships you." "That's not queer, it's abnormal," said Carnac with gusto.
"Then I'm abnormal," she said with a mocking laugh, and swung her hat on her fingers like a wheel.

Something stormy and strange swam in Carnac's eyes.

All his trouble rushed back on him; the hand in his pocket crushed the venomous letter he had received, but he said: "No, you don't worship me!" "Who was it said all true intelligence is the slave of genius ?" she questioned, a little paler than usual, her eye on the last gleam of the sun.
"I don't know who said it, but if that's why you worship me, I know how hollow it all is," he declared sullenly, for she was pouring carbolic acid into a sore.
He wanted to drag the letter from his pocket and hand it her to read; to tell her the whole distressful story: but he dared not.

He longed for her, and yet he dared not tell her so.

He half drew the letter from his pocket, but thrust it back again.