"You want me, then?" she said. ‘Cajolery? This is not your style. . Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. He stalked her, he stared at her, he craved her, he sidled slinking and propitiatory and yet relentlessly toward her, until at last she awoke from the suffocating nightmare nearness of his approach, and lay awake in fear and horror listening to the unaccustomed sounds of the hotel. "Hoddy, wake up!" She jerked his head to and fro until the hair stung.
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