One thing was certain, he would never have betrayed Tyson until Tyson had betrayed her.

As it was, his relations with her were sufficiently abnormal to be exciting; it was not passion, it was a rush of minute sensations, swarming and swirling like a dance of fire-flies--an endless approach and flight.
After all, he would not have had it otherwise.

The charm, he told himself, was in the levity of the situation.

The thread by which she held him was so fine that it could be broken any day.

There would be no pangs of conscience, no tears, no reproaches; no tyrannies of the heart and revolutions of the soul.