He turned to go. Oceaxe’s eyes slanted at him through their long lashes.
“Where are you off to, Maskull?”
“That’s a matter of no importance, for wherever I go it must be a change for the better. You walking whirlpools of crime!”
“Wait a minute. I only want to say this. Blodsombre is just starting, and you had better stay here till the afternoon. We can quickly put that body out of sight, and, as you seem to detest me so much, the place is big enough—we needn’t talk, or even see each other.”
“I don’t wish to breathe the same air.”
“Singular man!” She was sitting erect and motionless, like a beautiful statue. “And what of your wonderful interview with Surtur, and all the undone things which you set out to do?”
“You aren’t the one I shall speak to about that. But”—he eyed her meditatively—“while I’m still here you can tell me this. What’s the meaning of the expression on that corpse’s face?”
“Is that another crime, Maskull? All dead people look like that. Ought they not to?”
“I once heard it called ‘Crystalman’s face.’”
“Why not? We are all daughters and sons of Crystalman. It is doubtless the family resemblance.”