Only once since the day he had been locked in this room had Gregor offered speech.

He, Karlov, had roared at him, threatened, baited, but his reward generally had been a twisted wintry smile.
He could not offer physical torture beyond the frequent omissions of food and water; the body would have crumbled.

To have planned this for months, and then to be balked by something as visible yet as elusive as quicksilver! Born in the same mudhole, and still Boris Karlov the avenger could not understand Stefani Gregor the fiddler.

Perhaps what baffled him was that so valiant a spirit should be housed in so weak a body.

It was natural that he, Boris, with the body of a Carpathian bear, should have a soul to match.