He lit a cigarette and loitered about. Go back at once, please. The villagers were thronging to church. She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. Tucked under the writing-table a pair of yellow and gold Turkish slippers of a highly meretricious quality caught her eye. As she looked in this direction, the thief-taker raised his eyes—those gray, blood-thirsty eyes!—their glare froze the life-blood in her veins.
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