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” “But why——” Sir John stopped short. I do swear. ” She stopped buttoning her glove, and looked at him. ‘Yes, that is reasonable. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. He'd have some fun with that Chinaman before the morning was out. Perhaps Sir John is going to take the other one under his wing. Her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it. She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others. It was not a difficult affair.
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