As usual, however, on the occasion of any great calamity, a crowd was scouring the streets, whose sole object was plunder. 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. “You cannot! Oh, you cannot. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. “Sold again,” she remarked.
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