” Rhea whispered. "Your servant, Sir Rowland," said the stranger, ducking his head, as he advanced. She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone—the bones of all women. Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. The investigators should have thought to check inside the garbage can. The crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday—and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends. A chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling her waist, bound her to the wall.
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