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Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. She seized the key, and he grasped her hand and squeezed it roughly and painfully between the handle and the ward as she tried to turn it. Once he had managed to stake his claim, she would have all to do to prove her identity and win it back. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. “Well?” “You and all the rest of them are always lamenting that I do not marry. “If I didn’t love you better than myself,” said Capes, “I wouldn’t fence like this with you. Although she had refused to answer his impertinent questions. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. "Can't you take me with you?" urged the voice; "I'll make it well worth your while. “But you’re wrong. "Fool!" he cried, "do you think I wouldn't have secured you before this if I hadn't some motive for my forbearance?" "And that motive is fear," replied Jack contemptuously. She deserves what has befallen her.
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