. ” “Does she have to sell her soul to the Devil?” Lucy asked, feeling stupid. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. ‘As to that, I am a devil, say the nuns. The comparisons upon which she could draw were few and confusingly new, mixed with reality and the loose artistic conceptions of heroes in fiction. "You were no doubt surprised by the unlooked-for intelligence I sent you of your nephew's return?" "Was it unlooked-for on your part?" demanded the knight, distrustfully.
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