It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn. She sat on the edge of her bed and looked about her, at her room, at the row of black-covered books and the pig’s skull. "Insult you! not I;" returned Figg. She stepped on to the pavement almost before him, and his blood turned almost to ice as he saw that she was not alone. If we were set upon I could not defend you. Of course, one doesn’t like to talk about things until there are things to talk about.
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