" "Ah! Sometimes I wonder I don't run amok and kill someone," said the Wastrel, in broken English. "Fear!" echoed Wild, in a terrible tone,—"fear! Repeat that word again, and nothing shall save you. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. She tossed her head, and, having no further words, moved toward the door. " "Order those who choose to obey you," rejoined the lady scornfully. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped.
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