She moaned as she touched him. Good-looking girl. He grunted, and his grip gave. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it. "Well, Jack," he said, after a pause, "are you disposed to go back quietly with me?" "You'll ascertain that when you attempt to touch me," rejoined Sheppard, resolutely.
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