"Is it poison?" she asked. Perhaps an hour later he would begin again. Opening a pair of large black eyes, the child fixed them for an instant upon Wood, and then, alarmed by the light, uttered a low and melancholy cry, which, however, was speedily stilled by the caresses of his mother, towards whom he extended his tiny arms, as if imploring protection. It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. ‘Even the nuns they say I am like a devil. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. Her thoughts took words for themselves.
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