"Fear!" echoed Wild, in a terrible tone,—"fear! Repeat that word again, and nothing shall save you. He could not see these two shrinking misses capering about in a nun’s habit and brandishing a defiant pistol. She's not mischievous—and besides she's chained, and can't reach you. She played “Happy Birthday” for John, after which they plied her with a dozen requests. She savored the sweetness of his lips, all of his great youth and passion and longed for his innocence, his complete lack of the knowledge of terrible things. Her heartbeat quickened. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made. She guessed Jack was having trouble finding the right piece of carving.
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