But eventually Spurlock laughed. A gaunt, powerful man: no feature of his face decided, and yet for all that it had the significance of a countenance hewn out of rock. I mean—I mean to do what I can. "Who's that queer cove in the full-bottomed wig?" "Attend to me, sirrah," rejoined Wild, sternly. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. She had no intention of fighting fair. She heard it open, but as she felt unable to look round in a careless manner she pretended not to hear it.
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