She had
not the smallest intention of moving.
"Well," she said, and he imagined momentarily that her abominable accent
was deliberately assumed. "I guess you've heard it now, Mr. Bernard
Merefleet. Smart, I call it. What's your opinion?"
Merefleet started a little at the audacity of this speech. And again he
was looking at her. There was a funny little smile twitching the corners
of her mouth. Her beauty was irresistible. Even the iron barrier of his
churlish avoidance was severely shaken. She was hard to withstand, this
witch with her friendly eyes and frank speech, despite her jarring voice.
She nodded to him sociably as she met his grave look. "You aren't on a
pleasure-trip, I reckon," she observed.
"Pleasure!" said Merefleet, giving way with abrupt bitterness. "No.
There's not much pleasure in unearthing skeletons. That's what I'm
doing."
The beautiful eyes opposite opened wide. She was silent for a moment.
Then, "Think you're wise?" she enquired casually.
"No," said Merefleet roughly. "I'm a fool."
She nodded acquiescence. "That's so, I daresay," she said. "I was afraid
you were sick."
"So I am," he said. "Sick of life--sick of everything."
"I guess you want some medicine," she said seriously.
Merefleet laughed suddenly. "Something strong and deadly, eh?" he said.
She shook her head. "Tell me what you like best in the world!" she said.
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