“Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. She glanced into her companion’s face, and she saw there strange things. Carefully sustaining the child which, even in that terrible extremity, he had not the heart to abandon, he fell upon his knees, and, guiding himself with his right hand, crept slowly on. They bounced without merriment over bumpy Roman roads, and by the time they arrived she was extremely nauseous. Meantime the spinsters sought the dining room where tea was being served. ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. Hitherto you’ve seen only my easy, kindly side. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved.
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