Wood, with a look meant to reduce her supposed rival to the dust. “Of course I’m manager for this expedition,” he said, after an interval of self-examination. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. Suddenly remembering Kimble, her heart thudded with excitement. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. Melusine turned to look at the walls, and saw, immediately opposite, set between two candelabra above a marquetry side table, a gilded mirror. But you shall swing, rascal,—you shall swing.
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