"She asks me to give her back Bunny's love—his love! God! Does the silly little fool think that Bunny loves me? Does she call that—love?"
This time it was Diana who burst into a roar of laughter, and the Thing stood still and listened, its head cocked on one side, stupid, ridiculous, foolish; and when Diana neared it, when it tried to fly, to hover, to swing in mid air, all it succeeded in doing was to move swiftly about the room, just an inch or two away from the woman's groping fingers.
Diana laughed again, for she knew that the Thing had lost its faculty of flying, that it would not be able to escape her for long with the chances all in her favor.
For the boudoir was cluttered with furniture, and she knew the location of every piece, while the Thing would lose itself, stumble, fall, and then—
"Wait! You just wait!" she whispered; and the Thing backing away from the center of the room toward the carved Chinese screen, she followed step by step, her fingers groping, clawing, the lust of the hunter in her eyes, in her heart.
"I'll throttle you—"
Then she reconsidered. To throttle so as to kill, she would have to measure her own strength exactly
