around

by formal standards, she possessed a keen mind and a sharp eye for observation.
Yet, even though she seemed much friendlier than hitherto, she maintained the same relentless pace. I commented on it, after a week of travel, with a jocular remark to the effect that one would think she would have given up trying to wear me down. But she shook her head.
“It’s not you I’m thinking about. I’ve got to get into the Mutt as soon as possible, so I can start warning the underground about the Rap Sheet.”
“What is this Rap Sheet?” I asked. “And why are you so concerned about it?”
My question astonished her so much that she actually stopped and turned around.
“You’re an Ozarine!” she exclaimed. “You own all the Rap Sheets! Well, at least most of them.”
I threw up my hands with exasperation.
“Will you kindly relent with this Ozarine business?” I demanded. “Gwendolyn, I don’t own anything except the clothes on my back and the few possessions in my pack. And my easel,” I finished, pointing to it slung over my shoulder. “As for the Rap Sheets, it’s true that every year the Senate organizes a great parade on Victory Day in which the Rap Sheets along with other great relics and magic artifacts are paraded around to awe the populace. But the truth is I never really paid much attention to the whole business.”
“Can you really be such an innocent? It’s hard to believe, even for an artist.” She frowned. “Oh, stop looking so aggrieved. It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s just—”
I started to say something, but she held up a hand to quiet me.
“Just give me a moment. I’m trying to make a