Publisher's Synopsis
Excerpt from The Mark
So Loda went her way back and forth as she would, and her eyes were cool and her pulses quiet, for all the adulation. Perhaps she knew too much of men to be easily affected; so many came with tangled lives in their hands for her long, pliant fingers to unravel. Lordly Rajputs waited on her gifts, and old, decrepit fakirs with barely a rag that would hold them in decency. Borahs, Parsees, Hindus, Moguls, aye, and wild men from the hills, brought their tangles. And some she touched with Sleep, and some with Laughter, and again some with Fear; and whom she chose to draw she drew, and whom she chose to bind she bound. But of her own life, her own fate, she was all unconscious. When she tried to delve for herself she was hedged on the hither side and the far by cloudy dreams, elusive and baf?ing, as seems indeed the case with all seers who serve the world with truth faithfully, but who, when they would press it to their personal service, are mocked by vain illusions.
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