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His only warning was a gleam of silver in the faint spill of light from the house above. Never had he been so intrigued. The glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. But you have not finished surely. ” “Perhaps I don’t. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks. She is something different. She left for good after he fell asleep. But "fine" is the word.
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