‘I might have killed you,’ she snapped, ‘if only you did not say anything. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. ‘I do not wish to be like him, but it is entirely reasonable that it should be so. If not, I have plenty to think about,” she answered, leaning back in her chair, and watching the smoke from her own cigarette curl upwards. ‘He could have little comfort there, indeed. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday. But, if you've a spark of love for me, don't meddle with anything in that house. Then she threw the volume away with a little impatient exclamation. "General inspection after lunch; drying bins, stores and the young palms south-east.
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