She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. But he did not find the sword of monsieur le major, for this sergeant would have recognised it and told me that I am arrested again. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it. "Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely. She turned with an effort. It had been part of her wedding trousseau, a gift from her family to his. “If you come a step nearer to me,” she said, “I will smash every glass on this table.
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