” “Not exactly. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. “Can you spare me forty pounds?” she said. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen. For a time it really seemed all-sufficient to her that she should love. The eyes left him, searching beside the chair for her cane.
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