‘I’ve eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ He grunted. He was an imaginative young man. She brought her face to his chest, turning her head sideways so he would not notice her elongated canines. Dieu du ciel, what was it? She turned slowly, listening for the direction of the sound. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. The silence grew unbearable, so she asked, \"What is your surname, John?\" \"My surname? You mean my last name?\" \"Yes. . He watched her, savoring her curious attention.
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