It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. Spurling stood her negro attendant, Caliban; a hideous, misshapen, malicious monster, with broad hunched shoulders, a flat nose, and ears like those of a wild beast, a head too large for his body, and a body too long for his legs. There was a wild light in her eye, and her straight hair was out demonstrating and suffragetting upon some independent notions of its own. The lamp was spreading soot over everything and the reek of kerosene was stronger than usual. Ennison’s signet-ring had cut nearly to the bone.
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