She did not enter the cabin at once, but paused on the threshold and stared at the silent, recumbent figure in the bunk. He rested his brow on his hand and conveyed magnificent tragedy by his pose. And then at the street corner she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. "I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. She took a few of his things before she scanned the area. The fragrance of dryer sheets lay upon her like the snow that now drifted peacefully outside. .
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