You don't know them.'
She spoke slightly angrily and contemptuously of them, rather
protectively of me. So that vaguely I gathered that they were not quite
'respectable'.
Only one man came into the house. He was very handsome, beautiful
rather, a man of thirty-two or-three, with a clear golden skin, and
perfectly turned face, something godlike. But the expression was
strange. His hair was jet black and fine and smooth, glossy as a bird's
wing, his brows were beautifully drawn, calm above his grey eyes, that
had long dark lashes.
His eyes, however, had a sinister light in them, a pale, slightly
repelling gleam, very much like a god's pale-gleaming eyes, with the
same vivid pallor. And all his face had the slightly malignant,
suffering look of a satyr. Yet he was very beautiful.
He walked quickly and surely, with his head rather down, passing from
his desire to his object, absorbed, yet curiously indifferent, as if the
transit were in a strange world, as if none of what he was doing were
worth the while. Yet he did it for his own pleasure, and the light on
his face, a pale, strange gleam through his clear skin, remained like a
translucent smile, unchanging as time.
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