"Rum?" I said. "It's horrible—it isn't decent—it—it ought to be taboo. Don's got it sized up right. He—he wants to kill it."
"Please don't keep calling her It," said Graves. "She wouldn't like it—if she understood." Then he whispered words that were Greek to me, and the womankin laughed aloud. Her laugh was sweet and tinkly, like the upper notes of a spinet.
"You can speak her language?"
"A few words—Tog ma Lao?"
"Na!"
"Aba Ton sug ato."
"Nan Tane dom ud lon anea!"
It sounded like that—only all whispered and very soft. It sounded a little like the wind in the grass.
"She says she isn't afraid of the dog," said Graves, "and that he'd better let her alone."
"I almost hope he won't," said I. "Come outside. I don't like her. I think I've got a touch of the horrors."