“I know!”
“That's a good point for identification. How about her complexion, hair, and eyes?”
“Very large, dark eyes, and a great mass of black hair.”
The doctor roared.
“The eyes may help,” he said. “All women have masses of hair these days. I hope——”
“Her hair is fast to her head,” said the Harvester indignantly. “I saw it at close range, and I know. It went around like a crown.”
The doctor choked down a laugh. He wanted to say that every woman's hair was like a crown at present, but there were things no man ventured with David Langston; those who knew him best, least of any. So he suggested, “And her colouring?”
“She was white and rosy, a lovely thing in the dream,” said the Harvester, “but something dreadful has happened. That's all wiped out now. She was very pale when she left the car.”
“Car sick, maybe.”
“Soul sick!” was the grim reply.