“May I sit beside you?” “It’s a very difficult one,” said her aunt. When were you last confessed, Sir Rowland?" he added abruptly. That terrible laughter, just before his senses had left him! Why? Here was a word that volleyed at her from all directions, numbed and bewildered her: the multiple echoes of her own first utterance of the word. It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. What a mercy that the blow aimed at her by the ruffian, Wild, though it brought her to the brink of the grave, should have restored her to reason! Ah! she stirs. It is now a point of view, differing widely, as the ignorant man differs from the educated.
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