She was, she guessed, close to the library. “You did your best to kill me,” he said. But he seized the chance to entrap her fingers, fan and all, and look deeply into her eyes. Depend upon it, there is a place for you—waiting. Sebastian rose from the tomb. The idea that he held in his arms the girl whom he had once so passionately loved, and for whom he still retained an ardent but hopeless attachment, almost overcame him. Seven hundred forty-two dollars and eighty-one cents, the sum total of her money in the world that she hid in a filigreed cigar box shelved behind her schoolbooks. She quickened her pace, and so did he, talking at her slightly averted ear. He suddenly became eloquent and plausible.
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