His reputation was slightly tainted by his marriage to her mother, an exotic blue-eyed raven-haired beauty, a Gypsy doll with a clandestine heritage. The lips were straight and pale, the chin aggressive, the nose indomitable. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. Can’t travel alone, a pair of nuns. I don’t know. She bent down. "If this document is correct," continued Wood, "and I am persuaded it is so,— you are as unfortunate as wicked.
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