Graylock's worn eyes rested on the outline of the shrouded weapon:he stood eyeing it absently for a moment, then seated himself on thesofa, his heavy eyes shifting from one object to another.

But there were few objects to be seen in that silent place;--a staroverhead glimmering through the high expanse of glasssomewhat above;--otherwise gray monotony of wall, a clay shape or two swathedin wet clothes, a narrow ring of lamp light, and formless shadow.

"It's a long time, Drene."