The girl watched him go down the passage. "Whatever did he mean by that?" she inquired. "'Good hunting'."
"Oh, it's just an expression," said Pritchard vaguely.
She came over to him and turned about on her bare feet. "No shoes that fit," she said. "How do you like what I managed to scrounge from the men?"
He pulled her down to him with one lazy reach of his good arm. "I'm afraid," he murmured, "that I liked you better the way you were."
"You know," she spoke muffledly against his shoulder, "you're something of a beast."