My fire was out, my room in the Tavern of Stars still carpeted in shadow.

Beyond in the moonlight two people had halted, a boy who was denouncing someone in a hard and bitter voice and, clinging to his arm, a girl in a cloak, whom I judged to be his sister.

Her eyes were like pools of ink and tragic with imploring, Laughter would have made her lovely.

As it was, with her lashes wet I could only think of Niobe and a passion of tears.

I have rarely seen in a woman's face so much of the right kind of sweetness.