" "Blueskin's only chance would be to carry his threat into effect," pursued the woollen-draper. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. This was David Courtlaw, whose ways, too, had never been very different from the ways of other men as regards her sex. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. I suppose it depends on her own state of mind. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray.
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