Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. Anna did not pause, but she looked over her shoulder with slightly lifted eyebrows. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. His voice when he spoke was almost fiercely assertive, but there was an undernote of nervousness. "Your son," answered the boy. She smiled and started for the stairs without reply. His chin was angular and his lips were 16 small, his mouth tiny and refined. "I didn't carry you off from old Wood to kill you, but to wed you. And sometimes he overflowed with a peculiarly malignant wit that played, with devastating effect, upon any topics that had the courage to face it.
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