The air was pungent and leaden. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. Your old rooms are there, if you choose. “You can’t imagine,” Sydney exclaimed, “that the people downstairs will be such drivelling asses as to believe piffle like that. ” “But I can’t help but notice from your bookshelf that you read all sorts of horror and science fiction. Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him.
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