Spurlock plodded through the heavy sand, leaden in the heart and mind as well as in the feet. Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. We can’t. There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. There’s plenty to be got out of life in a decent sort of way. She addressed Capes as though she spoke to him alone. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. She turned on the lad with her, who was visibly relieved.
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