277 “I was beginning to think that I would never see you again, Lucy. The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. You are a sisterless man; you have never heard the ordinary talk that goes on at a girls’ boarding-school. “My wife. ‘And if not her, for she is dead, then me. Some of your sex, I mean. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively. You appear to be amongst those strong enough in all ordinary matters, but who seem to think it quite natural and proper to give in at once and play the weakling directly—one cares. Her little white hand stole across the table.
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