Sheppard, with a frenzied laugh. She lit the cigarette with a tiny Kelly green drugstore lighter. Swiftly she ran her hands over the carvings, trying to find the lever to the secret panel again. Perhaps that was the reason that they both remained standing. ” “You are foolish,” she declared, with a note of irritability in her tone. Kind of knows it, too. She glanced at the Frenchman, and found him struggling with the portrait that was embedded around his scalp. It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male. Beneath that tree let us lie. I mystify you; I can see that.
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