Russian, in his quick, hushed, elegant manner.
‘Not weally,’ she said. ‘I am afwaid of some things, but not weally the same. I’m not afwaid of BLOOD.’
‘Not afwaid of blood!’ exclaimed a young man with a thick, pale, jeering face, who had just come to the table and was drinking whisky.
The Pussum turned on him a sulky look of dislike, low and ugly.
‘Aren’t you really afraid of blud?’ the other persisted, a sneer all over his face.
‘No, I’m not,’ she retorted.
‘Why, have you ever seen blood, except in a dentist’s spittoon?’ jeered the young man.