’ ‘Then they are soldiers. A door slammed. She was shifting, moving back. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. “You are in luck, Miss Pellissier,” he declared. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. He had been abusing them for a long time when I arrived. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor.
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