You are my slave—and such you shall continue. I've got to know why. “Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. “Run in now. There are sing-song girls in Hong-Kong and Shanghai who are famous and wealthy. And yet the moment I am safely out of the way you are content to dress yourself in my rags, to go and get yourself popular and admired and successful, all on my reputation. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. She changed into a halter top and a pair of tight jeans herself, and let Lucy brush her long, glossy hair as they talked about mascara, schoolwork, and boys. Then a hansom drove up, and his heart gave a great leap.
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