There ain't a-many things made o' flesh and blood as
can make Sinfi Lovell show the white feather; but I know you'll think
the wuss o' me arter this, Hal. But while the pictur were a-showin' I
heard my dear mammy's whisper: "Little Sinfi, little Sinfi, beware o'
Gorgios! This is the one."'
V
By the time we reached the encampment it was quite dark. Panuel, and
indeed most of the Gypsies, had turned into the tents for the night;
but both Videy Lovell and Rhona Boswell were moving about as briskly
as though the time was early morning, one with guile expressed in
every feature, the other shedding that aura of frankness and sweet
winsomeness which enslaved Percy Aylwin, and no wonder.
Rhona was in a specially playful mood, and came dancing round us more
like a child of six than a young woman with a Romany Rye for a lover.
But neither Sinfi nor I was in the mood for frolic. My living-waggon,
which still went about wherever the Lovells went, had been carefully
prepared for me by Rhona, and I at once went into it, not with the
idea of getting much sleep, but in order to be alone with my
thoughts.
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