Then she said: "Anthony!" She was pale with the struggle, now, but she rose bravely to her part.

She even laughed, though it fell short like an arrow dropping in front of the target.
"Listen, Bard, you make a pretty good imitation of Samson, but I ain't cut out for any Delilah.

If I'm holding you here, why, cut and run and forget it." She drew a long breath and went on more confidently: "It ain't any use; I'm not cut out for any man--I'd so much rather be--free.

I've tried to get interested in others, but it never works." She laughed again, more surely, and with a certain hardness like the ringing of metal against metal, or the after rhythm from the peal of a bell.

With deft, flying fingers she rolled a cigarette, lighted it, and sat down cross-legged.
Through the first outward puff of smoke went these words: "The only thing that's a woman about me is skirts.