Her eyes were wet, her poor, crumpled prettiness made a deplorable spectacle.
'I can't, I can't! Why are you so unkind to me?
I have only said what any one would.

I hate her! My lips won't speak the words.

You've no right to ask me to do such a thing.' Her wrist was caught in a clutch that seemed to crush the muscles, and she was flung back on to the chair.

Terror would not let the scream pass her lips: she lay with open mouth and staring eyes.
Rodman looked at her for an instant, then seemed to master his fury and laughed.
'That doesn't improve your beauty.

Now, no crying out before you're hurt.