Spurlock stepped into the room. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. ’ Kimble chewed his lip, but his hostility was visibly lessening. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk.
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