Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. She had never imagined life was half so sinister as it looked to her in the beginning of these investigations. She was marvellously pretty, but he was not quite sure—yet—that it was advisable for him to sit with her in so public a place. Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. I worshipped women long before I found any woman I might ever hope to worship. We needn’t try and give ourselves airs. I've been hunting for this particular job for a thousand years!" She smiled a little sadly over this fine enthusiasm; for in her wisdom she had a clear perception where it would eventually end—in the veranda chair. "You think our sex has no feeling, I suppose, Sir," cried Mrs.
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