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" "Too proud, eh?" rejoined the prize-fighter. She finished the olive and looked up. ‘Do not say such things, you—you imbecile. "Perhaps that would have been best. Lucy grabbed the hand cannon, stuffing it with powder, nearly missing a swing of the sword meant for her neck. The music took hold of her slowly as her eyes wandered from the indistinct still ranks of the audience to the little busy orchestra with its quivering violins, its methodical movements of brown and silver instruments, its brightly lit scores and shaded lights. A curious silence ensued. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Annabel half filled her glass with wine, and taking a little folded packet from her plate, shook the contents into it. He stared at her breasts while he touched them.
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