Rafael Sabatini

Mistress Wilding Rafael Sabatini

Blake sucked in his nether-lip, his florid face a thought less florid than its wont, his prominent blue eyes a thought more prominent. Under its golden periwig old Nick Trenchard's wizened countenance was darkened by a scowl, and his fingers, long, swarthy, and gnarled, drummed fretfully upon the table. Portly Lord Gervase Scoresby-their host, a benign and placid man of peace, detesting turbulence-turned crimson now in wordless rage. The others gaped and stared-some at young Westmacott, some at the man he had so grossly affronted-whilst in the shadows of the hall a couple of lacqueys looked on amazed, all teeth and eyes.