Under the lace that fell over his wrist was a red cirque, the mark of the thong with which I had bound him.

As if he had told me, I knew that he had thrown his scruples to the winds, and that he cared not what foul play he used to sweep me from his path.

My spirit and my wit rose to meet the danger.

Of a sudden I resolved to accept his invitation.
"So be it," I said, with a laugh and a shrug of my shoulders.

"A cup of wine is no great matter.