He whistled, he caroled, he was plainly in high spirits. Around his finger he twirled a bit of wrought bronze — a circlet graved with angular crabbed characters, now stained black. By excellent chance he had found it, banded around the root of an ancient yew. Hacking it free, he had seen the characters on the inner surface — rude forceful symbols, doubtless the cast of a powerful antique rune … Best take it to a magician and have it tested for sorcery. Liane made a wry mouth. There were objections to the course. Sometimes it seemed as if all living creatures conspired to exasperate him. Only this morning, the spice merchant — what a tumult he had made dying! How carelessly he had spewed blood on Liane’s cock comb sandals! Still, thought Liane, every unpleasantness carried with it compensation. While digging the grave he had found the bronze ring. And Liane’s spirits soared; he laughed in pure joy. He bounded, he leapt.
