She said not a word as they stared each other in the face, but she began to move slowly toward the left-hand side of the bed.
His eyes followed her.

She was a fair, fine woman, with yellowish flaxen hair and light gray eyes, with a droop in the left eyelid.

He noticed those things and fixed them on his mind before she was round at the side of the bed.

Speechless, with no expression in her face, with no noise following her footfall, she came closer and closer--stopped--and slowly raised the knife.

He laid his right arm over his throat to save it; but, as he saw the knife coming down, threw his hand across the bed to the right side, and jerked his body over that way just as the knife descended on the mattress within an inch of his shoulder.
His eyes fixed on her arm and hand as she slowly drew her knife out of the bed: a white, well-shaped arm, with a pretty down lying lightly over the fair skin--a delicate lady's hand, with the crowning beauty of a pink flush under and round the finger-nails.
She drew the knife out, and passed back again slowly to the foot of the bed; stopped there for a moment looking at him; then came on--still speechless, still with no expression on the blank, beautiful face, still with no sound following the stealthy footfalls--came on to the right side of the bed, where he now lay.
As she approached, she raised the knife again, and he drew himself away to the left side.