Mrs. ” “I do not know who he is,” Brendon said quietly, “but he will not forget. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often. Then suddenly her spirit rose in revolt. “I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative.
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