"Not yet," said Wanda. "I shall first add your conditions, and the
actual signing won't occur until the proper time and place."
"In Constantinople?"
"No. I have thought things over. What special value would there be
in owning a slave where everyone owns slaves. What I want is to
_have a slave, I alone,_ here in our civilized sober, Philistine
world, and a slave who submits helplessly to my power solely on
account of my beauty and personality, not because of law, of property
rights, or compulsions. This attracts me. But at any rate we will go
to a country where we are not known and where you can appear before
the world as my servant without embarrassment. Perhaps to Italy, to
Rome or Naples."
* * * * *
We were sitting on Wanda's ottoman. She wore her ermine jacket, her
hair was loose and fell like a lion's mane down her back. She clung
to my lips, drawing my soul from my body. My head whirled, my blood
began to seethe, my heart beat violently against hers.
"I want to be absolutely in your power, Wanda," I exclaimed
suddenly, seized by that frenzy of passion when I can scarcely think
clearly or decide freely. "I want to put myself absolutely at your
mercy for good or evil without any condition, without any limit to
your power."
While saying this I had slipped from the ottoman, and lay at her
feet looking up at her with drunken eyes.
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