It was drafty and cold most of the time, but she found that she was not nearly as sensitive to the cold as long as he was 99 there to warm her up. Once inside, he looked around, worried that his parents would suddenly cancel their trip and return home. Everything seemed designed to unhinge the mind and make the cat wretched. There was a very substantial profit in the transaction, for he paid the natives in commodities—coloured cotton cloths, pipes and tobacco, guns and ammunition, household utensils, cutlery and glass gewgaws. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. Somehow.
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