She distinctly shivered as he forced her to look at him. ‘He had run away with a Frenchwoman, you see, but Everett Charvill—I refer to the general—took care to conceal the matter. 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. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence.
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