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your elbows on the table, don’t you?’
A tall fellow came in, with a mane of gray hair and a
ragged thin beard. He wore a dilapidated cloak and a wide-
awake hat. He nodded to Philip, who had met him there
before.
‘He looks like an anarchist,’ said Mildred.
‘He is, one of the most dangerous in Europe. He’s been in
every prison on the Continent and has assassinated more
persons than any gentleman unhung. He always goes about
with a bomb in his pocket, and of course it makes conversa-
tion a little difficult because if you don’t agree with him he
lays it on the table in a marked manner.’
She looked at the man with horror and surprise, and
then glanced suspiciously at Philip. She saw that his eyes
were laughing. She frowned a little.
‘You’re getting at me.’
He gave a little shout of joy. He was so happy. But Mil-
dred didn’t like being laughed at.
‘I don’t see anything funny in telling lies.’
‘Don’t be cross.’
He took her hand, which was lying on the table, and
pressed it gently.
‘You are lovely, and I could kiss the ground you walk on,’
he said.
The greenish pallor of her skin intoxicated him, and
her thin white lips had an extraordinary fascination. Her
anaemia made her rather short of breath, and she held her
mouth slightly open. it seemed to add somehow to the at-
tractiveness of her face.

Of Human Bondage