Kit left Betty to manage the shop and stomped upstairs to punish himself by balancing the books. He always left the door to his office not only unlocked but open. Across the landing, the door to his bedchamber was fastened by a heavy bolt, but he wanted Betty to be able to reach him—and his dagger, his pistol, and the rest of the modest arsenal he kept about his person—with a single shout. He also wanted to be able to hear the hum of voices from down below. He wanted to hear the clatter of cups, the sound of chair legs scraping across the wood floor, all almost loud enough to drown out the
Kit left Betty to manage the shop and stomped upstairs to punish himself by balancing the books. He always left the door to his office not only unlocked but open. Across the landing, the door to his bedchamber was fastened by a heavy bolt, but he wanted Betty to be able to reach him—and his dagger, his pistol, and the rest of the modest arsenal he kept about his person—with a single shout. He also wanted to be able to hear the hum of voices from down below. He wanted to hear the clatter of cups, the sound of chair legs scraping across the wood floor, all almost loud enough to drown out the sounds of the street outside his window. Anything was better than silence. And in through that unlocked door walked the powdered, beribboned gentleman. Kit didn’t say anything, nor did he get to his feet. It would be not only useless, but an admission that he didn’t have the upper hand, if he asked what this man thought he was doing. Instead, he calmly rested his dagger on the table before him, his hand relaxed on the hilt. For some reason, the sight of this made the stranger break into a broad, slow smile, revealing a row of small white teeth that transformed what might have been a pleasant face into something altogether vulpine. “Oh, marvelous,” the stranger said. “Really, well done. You are Kit Webb, are you not? Short for Christopher, middle name Richard, alias Gladhand Jack?” He pulled a chair out from the wall and brought it to face Kit’s desk, and then he sat, one leg delicately c...
...more
This highlight has been truncated due to consecutive passage length restrictions.
vulpine /ˈvəlˌpīn/ I. adjective 1. of or relating to a fox or foxes. 2. crafty; cunning • Karl gave a vulpine smile. – origin early 17th cent.: from Latin vulpinus, from vulpes ‘fox.’
Vulpini is a tribe which represents the fox-like taxon of the subfamily Caninae (the canines), and is sister to the dog-like tribe Canini.[2] It comprises the 15 extant and 21 extinct species found on all continents.
