“You have a boyfriend! That’s fine by me, it’s your business, but you’d better stop sneaking around because Sheila’s got eyes in the back of her head!” He heard Sheila utter a loud percussive blast of a snore from the master bedroom. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. When the carpenter a moment afterwards stretched out his hand, scarcely knowing whether he was alive or dead, he found himself alone. Quilt, meanwhile, came down, examined the door, and finding it unfastened, locked it with a bitter imprecation on his brother-janizary's carelessness. Though there is something to be said for your idea of a secret convent, at least as a hiding place.
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