The comments on the makeover lessened but were replaced by long admiring glances by boys who had never before given her the time of day. She was always initiating petty breaches of discipline. ‘Never trust a gun in female hands,’ grumbled Hilary, dropping the nun’s habit and backing to join his friend. “Yes,” she said, very faintly. I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. The vengeance of the assailants did not stop here. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray.
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