And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. This done, she waited at the side of the bed; but he gave no sign that he was conscious of her nearness. “What is the exact force of a motif?” she asked at random. Every eye was fixed upon the prisoner. The clock struck half-past ten. To-morrow, we'll go to the Fleet and get spliced.
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