When the disillusion comes, when the fairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn't mind. But from the rest—you saved me. It’s got to be at last like tobacco-ash over all my sayings and doings. The Trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for Sir Rowland is no more, and the youth, Thames, will never again see daylight. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion.
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