His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it. “Have to take your turn,” he remarked laconically. However, no one had discovered me, so I contrived to drag myself to my horse. Supposing the wire should break and her head tumble off her shoulders into the street? The whimsey caused another smile to ripple across her lips. Jack now carefully closed the shutters, while Blueskin struck a light, with which he set fire to a candle. The distinction lay chiefly in the right to pat their heads.
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