She wore a dull gold bracelet, and emerald pendants dangled from her ears. Her short-clipped hair was like a tight ebony cap, and her deep blue eyes were surrounded by long, thick sooty-black lashes, the lids etched with a subtle blue-green shadow, brows curving in graceful arcs. The mouth was a little too large, a shade too red, but this defect only made an interesting contrast. I hated her. I would have hated her even if she hadn’t been pointing a gun at me. “You’re quite an accomplished actress,” I said calmly. All fear was gone. I had been afraid of a mysterious dark form lurking in the hallway. I couldn’t take this woman or her stage-prop gun seriously. “Yes,” she replied, “though perhaps I overdid it just a trifle.” “Mildred was rather outlandish,” I agreed, “but then acting is a magnification of life. A good actress knows how to exaggerate basic characteristics to set them off properly. Your makeup was fantastic. I suppose you used rubber pads to give the jowly effect?”
