The thief-taker's throat was bound up with thick folds of linen, and his face had a ghastly and cadaverous look, which communicated an undefinable and horrible expression to his glances. Her gaze flickered down to his pistol. It isn't friendly as I thought it would be. And son of a pig,’ she grunted, baring her teeth. ” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. Prior to the great adventure, her mirrors had been the still pools in the rocks after the ebb.
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