 What words best describe Miss Webb?
But now, on Mercury, he was selling his guns into the weirdest of all his exploits—gambling his life against the soft touch of a woman's lips. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Summer 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The song was a rollicking, ribald ditty, a favorite of the planters and miners, the space pilots and army officers who frequented the garden. There was perspiration on her upper lip and temples. Without looking up, he said: "Have you spotted him?" "I did not want to call you in, Jaro Moynahan." Jaro Moynahan wiped the sweat from his forehead with a fine duraweb handkerchief. Jaro Moynahan refilled their empty glasses. The girl started, glanced at the pianist, said with a shiver: "We can't locate Karfial Hodes. One moment the garden was glowing in light, the next the hot black night swooped down on the revelers, pressing against their eyes like dark wool. On the hot, teeming planet of Mercury it was as refreshing as a cold plunge. Peet controlled the Latonka trade for which there was a tremendous demand throughout the Universe. These yellow-eyed Mercurians could see as well in the dark as any alley-prowling cat. For centuries they had lived most their lives beneath ground to escape the terrible rays of the sun. Only at night did they emerge to work their fields and ply their trades. If the girl had been abducted, only Mercurians could have engineered it in the dark; and the Mercurians were a clannish lot. Somewhere in those rat-runs was Karfial Hodes, the revolutionist, and the girl. They were never visible, but to his trained ears there came stealthy, revealing noises: the brush of cloth against the baked earth walls, the sly shuffle of a step. Jaro Moynahan In the East a sullen red glow stained the heavens like the reflection of a fire. Once back in his room, Jaro Moynahan stripped off his clothes, unbuckled a shoulder holster containing a compressed air slug gun, stepped under the shower. Why, at this time when the Earth Congress was about to grant them self-government, should they stage a revolution? Miss Mikail must be the red-headed singer, whom at different times he had known under a dozen different aliases. "Then I was right; it is you who are putting up the ten thousand Earth notes." "There are many of us here, Mercurians as well as Earthmen, who recognize the danger.
 witty and sarcastic
 secretive and manipulative  annoyed and rude  witty and sarcastic  careful and cautious