She would not be caught again.

She ran with the glass to the place where she kept it in hiding, and then quickly she wove the heavy strands of her hair into a braid.

The strange, dead look of fear and foreboding closed like a veil over the secrets her eyes had disclosed to herself.
She turned, as she always turned in her woman's hope and yearning, to greet him when he entered.
The Brute entered, a dark and surly monster.

He was in a wicked humour.
His freshly caught furs he flung to the floor.

He pointed to them, and his eyes were narrowed to menacing slits as they fell upon her.
"He was there again--that devil!" he growled.