She had a short black skirt, an orange shawl, a dark complexion--and the escaped single hairs from the mass, sombre and thick like a forest and held up by a comb, made a black mist about her low forehead.

A shrill lamentable howl of: "Misericordia!" came in two voices from the further end of the long room, where the fire-light of an open hearth played between heavy shadows.

The girl recovering herself drew a hissing breath through her set teeth.
It is unnecessary to report the long process of questions and answers by which he soothed the fears of two old women who sat on each side of the fire, on which stood a large earthenware pot.

Byrne thought at once of two witches watching the brewing of some deadly potion.

But all the same, when one of them raising forward painfully her broken form lifted the cover of the pot, the escaping steam had an appetising smell.