He seemed in no hurry.
Priam’s hands were still at the sides of his chair. He was sitting forward, giving his whole attention to the untying process. His beard rose and fell with his chest. The purple flag had come down, leaving a sort of gray emptiness, like a foggy sky.
Laurel was intent.
Young Macgowan kept shifting from foot to naked foot, uneasily.
Delia Priam stood perfectly still.
“Lieutenant,” said Ellery suddenly, as he worked over the last knot, “what do you suppose we’ll find in here?”
Keats said, “After those dead frogs I wouldn’t stick my chin out.” He kept looking at Priam.
“Do you have to take out the knots?” cried Crowe. “Open it!”
“Would anyone care to guess?”
“Pleased Laurel, begging.