The hands on each
side of the face, keeping the boughs apart, also did not look as if they
belonged to any real body. One of them was holding a revolver--a weapon
which she recognized merely by intuition, never having seen such an
object before.
She leaned her shoulders against the rock of the perpendicular hillside
and kept her eyes on Heyst, with comparative composure, since the spears
were not menacing him any longer. Beyond the rigid and motionless back
he presented to her, she saw Wang's unreal cardboard face moving its
thin lips and grimacing artificially. She was too far down the path to
hear the dialogue, carried on in an ordinary voice. She waited patiently
for its end. Her shoulders felt the warmth of the rock; now and then a
whiff of cooler air seemed to slip down upon her head from above; the
ravine at her feet, choked fun of vegetation, emitted the faint, drowsy
hum of insect life. Everything was very quiet. She failed to notice
the exact moment when Wang's head vanished from the foliage, taking the
unreal hands away with it. To her horror, the spear-blades came gliding
slowly out. The very hair on her head stirred; but before she had
time to cry out, Heyst, who seemed rooted to the ground, turned round
abruptly and began to move towards her. His great moustaches did not
quite hide an ugly but irresolute smile; and when he had come down near
enough to touch her, he burst out into a harsh laugh:
"Ha, ha, ha!"
She looked at him, uncomprehending.
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