She felt as if she had struck them unawares. She loped forward on unnaturally long legs and arms that swung loosely. “We must go. “I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition. They found out Cris had some sort of criminal past, more child abuse stuff of course. She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill. She was alone with a deadly enemy. “I want you to kiss me,” she said. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. The world isn't real yet; she hasn't comparisons by which to govern her acts.
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