Peste, she had forgot the sword. Opening her large black eyes, she fixed them upon him for a moment with a mixture of terror and loathing, and then averted her gaze. “You’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her. He probably imagines himself to be a thousand times worse off than he actually is. Given the proper incentive, who could say that he might not likewise go nobly to some fine end? She thrilled. That a longing of hers should be realized in this strange fashion was difficult to believe: it vaguely suggested something of a trap.
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