She was quite naked, crouching in her cell with her uncombed black hair hanging down to her sturdy brown shoulders.
"Za'min—car?" she repeated.
He shook his head. What the devil was the girl driving at?
She looked puzzled then touched her breast, said: "Lete."
"Lady?"
"Lete—Lete—Lete," she insisted, jabbing herself in the chest each time.
She had small flashing white teeth, a pretty face, brown as sepia. In fact she was sepia all over, a warm rich tint that made Jupiter Jones uncomfortably conscious of the fish-belly whiteness of his own skin.
But it was her eyes that caught his interest. The iris was large, yellow, flecked with green like a cat's eye. The pupil wasn't round but a narrow slit.
He wondered if Lete was her name or the name of her tribe or what. He pointed at another captive, said:
"Lete?"