4/6 I could not help thinking, at the time, of a pall, somehow. I'm not--no--not pleasant near him. No--I--I can't--his face is so pale--you don't often, see so pale a face--no--it looks like a reflection from one that's still paler--you understand--and in short, even in his perfumes there's a taint of--of--you know--a taint of blood, Sir. Then there was a pause, during which he kept slapping his boot peevishly with his little riding-whip. 'One can't, of course, but be kind,' he recommenced. |