’ ‘I have no game. A thickly-set, sandy young man, with an unwholesome complexion and grease-smooth hair, had entered the room. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. Swiftly she ran her hands over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again.
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