Surely she could ignore him. She felt her own body stir, ready for more. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. A stiff, formally-cut coat of cinnamon-coloured cloth, with rows of plate buttons, each of the size of a crown piece, on the sleeves, pockets, and skirts, reached the middle of his legs; and his costume was completed by the silver-hilted sword at his side, and the laced hat under his left arm. The same old lines and verses, over and over, until there had come times when shrieking would have relieved her. "Just in time," said the thief-taker. Nothing. ’ She shrugged. “Come this way,” he said. " "I'm sorry. At times he was brilliant and masterful, talked round and over every one, and would have been domineering if he had not been extraordinarily kindly; at times he was almost monosyllabic, and defeated Miss Garvice’s most skilful attempts to draw him out.
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