Down under the incalculable selfishness of the penitent child there was the man's uneasy recollection of Judas. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. . "I'll tackle it to-night!" "But it's after ten!" "What's that got to do with it? … The roofs of the native huts scattering in the wind! … the absolute agony of the twisting palms!…. "However, some one must look after the jail; and they're all gone but me. How is she?” “My sister is quite well, thank you,” she answered. Her eyebrows were lifted in expostulation. And now I find, when it is too late, that I might have deserved you—that I am as well born as Thames Darrell.
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