This was, perhaps, the best evidence that he had cut out the cancer in his breast.
The Golden Goddess, whom he had thought an angel, he now saw stripped of her glory.

If she had repented in that room, if she had betrayed fear even, a single emotion of mental agony, he would not have felt so sure of himself.

But she had laughed.

She was, like Tavish, a devil.

He thought of her beauty now as that of a poisonous flower.