“So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. The girl was in the game now, and that narrowed the circle. ‘Come, come, ma’am,’ he said smiling. What you would look upon as immorality is here merely an established custom, three thousand years older than Christianity, accepted with no more ado than that which would accompany you should you become a clerk in a shop.
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