ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. But for all that, it offered relief; his brain, stupefied by the fumes, grew dull, and conscience lost its edge to bite. Anna and her escort exchanged glances. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. During this dreadful pause the wretched man felt for his sword. She entered the kitchen.
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