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"I don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, "but I've a strange foreboding of ill. “No doubt about that, I fancy,” Meddoes answered lightly. He was by no means certain that she would not in fact attempt to blow off his head as she had threatened. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made.
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