The Mediterranean had surely never bred
such a breed; nor had Scandinavia. They were not blonds. They were
not brunettes. Nor were they of the Brown, or Black, or Yellow.
Their skin was white under a bronze of weather. Wet as was their
hair, it was plainly a colourless, sandy hair. Yet their eyes were
dark--and yet not dark. They were neither blue, nor gray, nor green,
nor hazel. Nor were they black. They were topaz, pale topaz; and
they gleamed and dreamed like the eyes of great cats. They regarded
us like walkers in a dream, these pale-haired storm-waifs with pale,
topaz eyes. They did not bow, they did not smile, in no way did they
recognize our presence save that they looked at us and dreamed.
But Andy Fay greeted us.
"It's a hell of a night an' not a wink of sleep with these goings-
on," he said.
"Now where did they blow in from a night like this?" Mulligan Jacobs
complained.
"You've got a tongue in your mouth," Mr. Pike snarled. "Why ain't
you asked 'em?"
"As though you didn't know I could use the tongue in me mouth, you
old stiff," Jacobs snarled back.
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