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Page 13
Then in her pink boudoir
the scared dame threw
Her throbbing plumpness on a velvet throne,
And sat to preach at him: "You say you know
My niece's history?"
"I know your niece,"
He broke in on her, "Let me hear no more
Of histories. Let Lota tell as much
As suits her and as little as she likes.
Where is she? Call her."
She in panic shook,
And scarcely could reply; yet made a show
Of boldness. "Lota? Lota is not here.
Has she not let you know so much by now?"
"Not here!" he answered slowly, drawing breath
With the desperate calm of passion, "Lota gone!
Where shall I find her?"
"Nay, how should I know?
She would not be reproved, she would not give
One promise to her good, she'd be left free
To go her lawless way ... or leave my house.
Was I to ask her pardon, bid her stay
And have as many lovers as she pleased,
With my girls under the same roof?"
He stopped
Her breathless clamour, "Tell me where she is."
"How can I? Not a hint she deigned to give.
Evelyn was weak enough to ask her; she,
So artful, was not weak enough to tell.
I fear she'll let you know."
"Be still," he cried,
"With your unholy taunts, your lying taunts.
Oh shameful woman, cruel, foul in thought,
How dare you spatter mud on the pure snow
Of a girl's innocence? Your brother's child!
How dared you with your stabbing poisonous tongue
Harry her out in the world you know not where -
A helpless girl."
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