She bolted upright as she heard footsteps rumble towards the door, cursing UPS for being so damn persistent in such foul weather. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. It was lent me by a countryman o' mine; but I paid him back in his own coin—ha! ha!" "A countryman of yours, Terry?" "Ay, and a noble one, too, Quilt—more's the pity! You've heard of the Marquis of Slaughterford, belike?" "Of course; who has not? He's the leader of the Mohocks, the general of the Scourers, the prince of rakes, the friend of the surgeons and glaziers, the terror of your tribe, and the idol of the girls!" "That's him to a hair?" cried Terence, rapturously. The door of cabin 2 was open. I wonder what men would say if we threw the mask aside—if we really told them what WE thought of them, really showed them what WE were.
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