She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. She refused coffee, though she knew that anyhow she was doomed to a sleepless night. Inhuman as he is, he would not kill her. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. Had he been trying to stop the grim descent, and had he dimly perceived that perhaps a fine deed would serve as the initial barrier? A drunken idea—a pearl in the midst of a rubbish heap. He shrieked with agony, and clung with desperate tenacity to the roughened stones. ‘Believe it or not, I do it for pleasure.
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