8. ’ The lashes fluttered demurely. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. ‘That is imbecile. ‘He wanted me also to run away with him, and I wish very much that I had done so. Gives you a right to hang on to the old man until he busts—practically. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative.
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