He pushed her down upon a chair and knelt beside her. She found herself
staring down at a shock of straw-coloured hair, while the owner of it
sucked and sucked with an almost brutal force at a place in the crook of
her arm that felt as if a red-hot needle had been plunged into it. She
could feel the drawing of his teeth against her flesh. It was a sensation
almost more horrible than the actual snake-bite had been.

Twice he turned his head and spat into the hearth, and she saw that his
face was smooth and young, the colour of sun-baked brick.

At last he looked up at her with the most extraordinarily blue eyes she
had ever seen, and said, with a kindly twinkle in them, "I don't think
you'll die this time, missis."

She looked from him to her arm. The bite showed no more than the sting of
a nettle, but around it was the deep impress of his teeth. Certainly he
had done his task thoroughly.

The kettle was singing over the fire. He got to his feet and patted Robin
on the head. "Let's wash it," he said. "Is there a basin handy?"

Dot sat in her chair, feeling rather weak. He fetched a bowl and set it
on a chair by her side. He poured water into it from the kettle.

She looked up at him rather apprehensively. "I needn't scald it, need I?"

He smiled down at her in instant reassurance, a vivid smile that warmed
her fear-chilled heart. His teeth were white and regular, like the teeth
of a young wild animal.