She was in one of her old walking-dresses, her hair was done in an unfamiliar manner, she wore a wedding-ring, and she looked as if she had been crying. In truth, she had been quite glad to lose the argument about remaining while the bullet was dug out of Jack’s side. Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel.
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