He knocked his pipe on the teak rail. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. "I guess who you mean," rejoined Shotbolt. Tell him the truth, Annabel. ’ Both hands about the butt of her unwieldy pistol, Melusine glared at him. Wily little devil she is.
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