“And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. She addressed her letters, meditated on them for a time, and then took them out and posted them. Sebastian crouched on the floor with a single dead victim, a young highwayman. She shuddered; the room was unfamiliar and unwelcoming. In the matter of his conscience he was primitive; and for an educated man to become primitive is to become something of a child. Supposing you fetch what you can, and if you will allow me, I will see you off. “If I am,” he answered, reddening, “you can scarcely assert that it is without a cause.
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