She was gone. How she hated talking of the man who was responsible for her being brought into the world. “What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia. ‘And so you sneak back,’ she threw at him, ‘like the jackal that you are. Before midnight, I'll answer for it, it shall be done. Indeed, a note of weeping broke her voice for a moment as she burst out, “You know as well as I do that money was a loan!” “Loan!” “You yourself called it a loan!” “Euphuism. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths.
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