He missed the sly, wondering glance that she gave him out of the corner of her eye a moment later.
Although it was broad daylight, the low, stuffy room would have been pitch dark had it not been for the flickering candles on the table beside the bent, grey head of the mumbling fortune-teller, whose bony fingers twitched over and about the crystal globe like wiggling serpents' tails.

The window gave little or no light and the door was closed, the grinning grandson leaning against it limply.

The picture was a weird, uncanny one, despite the gay, lightsome appearance of the visitors.

The old woman, in high, shrill tones, had commanded silence.
The men obeyed with a grim scepticism, while the women seemed really awed by their surroundings.
The Witch began by reading the fortune of John Tullis, who had been pushed forward by the wide-eyed Prince.

In a cackling monotone she rambled through a supposititious history of his past, for the chief part so unintelligible that even he could not gainsay the statements.