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. The emerald wings, slashed with scarlet and yellow, wheeling and swooping about her head, there among the wild plantain. She would then partially recall the items that she had heard about him, presenting each at the angle that was the most likely to inflict pain. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy.
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