"I guessed what was coming. This became very interesting. It’s true. The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. The thought had not even occurred to him.
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