She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. And for Suzanne and the vicomte, I am nothing. A moment before, the surface of the stream was black as ink. She took up the poker and stirred the fire vigorously. "He ought to do, seeing that he served his apprenticeship in it to Mr. Men have seen to that. . At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. Why are you so anxious?" "Oh, if you can't see your way…. Her face scarcely reflected his enthusiasm.
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