“Christopher?” I called, staggering to my feet.
“Sir?”
I knew by the nearness of his voice that he was already beside me, but invisible in the blackness.
“Light the lamp. We are going to dress.”
He obeyed without a word. I was feverishly rummaging for my clothes.
“There, sir,” he said, pointing to my moccasins, but neglecting to fetch them to me.
I had forgotten that my dress was Senatra and that moccasins were the only part of it I had removed. I made a blundering affair of putting them on, for the clutch of my hand was shaped better for a bludgeon just then. Christopher was observing me with a mild, exasperating patience.
“Put yours on,” I roughly commanded.
He made still denser the stupidity in his stare, and stood still.
“Hurry!” I cried.