Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. “It was not necessary,” Sir John answered stiffly. To his relief, she nodded. Luck. ‘Come, I am concerned merely for your safety, you know. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Anna looked at her curiously, and with sinking heart. And the way he and the other men looked at her! The desire was plain on their faces, so many noblemen reduced to their simplest elements! They looked at her sideways, they looked at her backside, scanning her blue eyes and even looking right into her face.
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