"What proof have you of the truth of this story?" inquired Trenchard. He thought her only an orphan in search of her English relatives. She had warned him. This circumstance produced no further alteration in his demeanour except that he endeavoured to abstract himself from the surrounding scene, and bend his attention to the prayers which the ordinary was reciting. She had all the fascination of being absolutely perplexing in this respect. Her head ached with a hollow pain. He took her hands firmly in his and raised them to his lips. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. She had mentioned the address where she and her sister had lived. But somehow he could not bring any of these affairs to an orderly end. “I hope that it has not done any harm. If morality means anything it means keeping bounds, respecting implications, respecting implicit bounds. "I can do without it," muttered Jack.
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