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“I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over the boy who wore his hair like Russell. He’s the handle of life for you. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. “I won’t go home,” she said; “I won’t!” and she evaded the clutch of the fatherly policeman and tried to thrust herself past him in the direction of that big portal. You are captain of your soul; don't forget your Henley. Before the congregation separated, the clergyman descended from the pulpit; and, followed by the coffin-bearers and mourners, and by Jack at a respectful distance, entered the churchyard. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible.
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