She hated tricking Shari, whose joy for life was the only thing that made her naive enough to fall for laced iced tea or hot cocoa, depending on the season. Even though the individual faces of her audience were not to be singled out, she had been conscious from the first moment of her appearance that something was wrong. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. Then she would be dead, and that was no use. Two persons possessing a more comfortable stock of assurance could not be readily found. "We'll do it.
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