Next, his movements lapsed slower, and she could see them individually.

The hissing of the sword had ceased, and he stopped entirely.
"That outer loose lock of hair wants tidying," he said, before she had moved or spoken.

"Wait: I'll do it for you." An arc of silver shone on her right side: the sword had descended.
The lock dropped to the ground.
"Bravely borne!" said Troy.

"You didn't flinch a shade's thickness.
Wonderful in a woman!" "It was because I didn't expect it.

Oh, you have spoilt my hair!" "Only once more." "No--no! I am afraid of you--indeed I am!" she cried.
"I won't touch you at all--not even your hair.