But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. ‘Lord,’ he uttered, glancing about with a disparaging eye. “I remember when you walked me home. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. He was a just man, and he did not care to start any thunder which was not based upon fairness. White men and natives dealt conveniently at Copeley's. So often as she had herself manipulated a dagger, she could not mistake the shape that pressured across her chest, or the sharp point that dug below her bosom. “You were born for great things,” he said huskily.
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