Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. “I will put the question,” Drummond said gravely. His literary instincts began to stir. "And, may I be cursed if I ever did anything in my whole life which gave me so much satisfaction. She remained standing stiffly, unable even to move. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. She had not gone by the name Lucy during those years but instead had called herself “Mary Lucia Iovelli”. I want to ask you a plain question, and you must answer me faithfully. .
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