There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. Meanwhile, the executioner had attached strong cords to his ankles and wrists, and fastened them tightly to the iron rings. At the open door stood a young man in a rich garb with a mask on his face, who was encouraging the mob by words and gestures. He rolled on top of her, pinning her with his arms and forming a tented cage. Considering how little he lets her have. She ought to have leapt back on guard.
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