She moved not, massive and shapeless like a recumbent statue in the rough; he remembered her wide-open eyes looking into the empty room.

She was mysterious, with the mysteriousness of living beings.

The far-famed secret agent [delta] of the late Baron Stott-Wartenheim's alarmist despatches was not the man to break into such mysteries.

He was easily intimidated.

And he was also indolent, with the indolence which is so often the secret of good nature.