where its roots bedded in the tightness of skin-stretch over the skull.
And Michael liked it. Never had a man's hand been so intimate with his
ear without hurting it. But these fingers were provocative only of
physical pleasure so keen that he twisted and writhed his whole body in
acknowledgment.

Next came a long, steady, upward pull of the ear, the ear slipping slowly
through the fingers to the very tip of it while it tingled exquisitely
down to its roots. Now to one ear, now to the other, this happened, and
all the while the man uttered low words that Michael did not understand
but which he accepted as addressed to him.

"Head all right, good 'n' flat," Dag Daughtry murmured, first sliding his
fingers over it, and then lighting a match. "An' no wrinkles, 'n' some
jaw, good 'n' punishing, an' not a shade too full in the cheek or too
empty."

He ran his fingers inside Michael's mouth and noted the strength and
evenness of the teeth, measured the breadth of shoulders and depth of
chest, and picked up a foot. In the light of another match he examined
all four feet.

"Black, all black, every nail of them," said Daughtry, "an' as clean feet
as ever a dog walked on, straight-out toes with the proper arch 'n' small
'n' not too small. I bet your daddy and your mother cantered away with
the ribbons in their day."

Michael was for growing restless at such searching examination, but
Daughtry, in the midst of feeling out the lines and build of the thighs
and hocks, paused and took Michael's tail in his magic fingers, exploring