He talked of it--or so it appeared to her--with more braggadocio than enthusiasm.

He could converse of little else.

It was going to smash Jebusa Jones's Cuticle Remedy to the shreds of its ointment boxes.

The deepening vertical line between the man's brows she did not notice, nor did she interpret the wistful look in his eyes when he claimed her help.

She was tired of the Cure and the Remedy and Sypher's fantastic need of her as ally.