His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. He became ugly and monstrous, dunning her, threatening her, assailing her. “Stop! Don’t put your face there. Disillusion stands in one doorway of our house and Mockery in the other. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. She wondered even at this late day how she had been able to hold her maddening curiosity in check. “It’s your birthday today, May Day. ’ Lucilla sat up. .
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