But then the German's thin-lipped smile graces his lips, and he turns away to fetch his bottle. Let this be a lesson to you, Monsieur Tremain. When one courts the lady, one must be careful of her claws. He slips the woman a small smirk of understanding. Outside, Heavy clouds create a sky as dark as pitch.
Nothing breaks through from the heavens.
With a hot wind from the northwest, the deepening shade of night seems cheerless and ominously threatening. The blue eyes follow him, even after he turns away. Perhaps you and the Irishman compare notes, as you're drinking yourselves into idiocy. And the clouds agree that the mood here is turning a bit foul,' he adds in his strangely accented but native sounded Swahili. So says the Englishwoman in the turban.