Probably some woman on the loose; they were as thick as flies over here—dizzy blondes. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. The fascination of the idea of throwing himself upon his knees and crying out all that was in his heart! As his eyes began to focus objects, he saw one of her arms extended upon the counterpane, in his direction, the hand clenched tightly. Their flitting hands were always touching. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp.
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