He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that it struck the child and the grown-up impartially. Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station. Cursing under his breath, Gerald moved swiftly across and dragged her away. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. Most unsatisfactory. Her hair was washed for her also. "What's the use of wasting a shot?" rejoined Jonathan, savagely. He dressed mechanically; so many moves this way, so many moves that. " "But that style isn't Oriental. But I don't understand her; she's over my head. He looked at his port wine as though that tawny ruby contained the solution of the matter.
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