‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. ” “The man?” 228 “Yes. My nerves were in rags. ” For a moment she was grave. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image. Snatching-up his pistols, he rushed to the door, but to his horror found it fastened. Set yourself to find it out, if you will—but if you do, never dare to call yourself my friend again. If I were to marry you now I should feel a dependent being all my life—a sort of parasitical creature without blood or muscle.
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