THE LAST ARABIAN NIGH1 513

push and wriggle. The feel of her body, the soft cheek
burning beneath his lips, the scent of her hair, touched a
spring inside him; all tenderness for her vanished; his
blood leaped and sent a murderous cataract roaring in
his ears. He still held her, but hardly noticed her hands
on his face.

She gave a violent twist, partly freeing herself. "You
dirty, filthy pig!" she cried. "Let me go. I hate you.
If you touch me again, I'll scream and scream until
somebody comes/'

He looked at her and then there came, like a flash of
lightning, the conviction that she was hateful, and some-
thing broke, and a great blinding tide of anger swept
over him. Her scream was cut short, for his hands were
round her soft white throat, pressing and pressing it as
he shook her savagely. Her head wobbled like a silly-
mechanical doll's. Her mouth was open and her eyes
were bulging, and so she wasn't even nice to look at any
more, but just silly and ugly, so silly and ugly that his
hands, which had an independent life of their own now
and were strong and masterful, pressed harder than ever.

A horribly rusty noise came from that open mouth.
She suddenly went limp, and, as his hands released their
grip, her eyes closed and she slipped backwards, striking
her head against the corner of the divan as she fell" and
then rolling over on to the floor, a huddle of clothes and
white flesh. She made no movement at all, not a twitch,
not a tremor. He crept forward, his eyes fixed on what
could be seen of her face, purply-white and still The
whole figure was completely motionless. He waited a
minute, raising his eyes in a slow strained fashion until
they took in nothing but the shape and colour of a fancy
box of cigarettes on the little table bv the divan. There