We aren’t afraid; we don’t bother. They were headed by an athleticlooking, swarthy-featured man, who was armed with a cutlass, which he waved over his head to cheer on his companions. These fellows must be right,” he added thoughtfully, “and yet—there’s a mystery somewhere. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. ‘Do you swear it? There’s no knowing if one can believe you. I was resolved to see you. But you could have just as easily lost your womb in the Pestilence, and your life. Some part of the stiff vigour of the man seemed to have subsided. She had only to get through this, to solace Manning as much as she could, to put such clumsy plasterings on his wounds as were possible, and then, anyhow, she would be free—free to put her fate to the test.
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