. . She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced. Jack dropped the knife, and walked sullenly aside. The Chinamen raised the limp body and carried it to the hall staircase, up which they mounted laboriously. They were sounding more and more like Civic every day. He walked her home. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. She possessed it, astonishing fact! She had summoned this energy so continuously during the past four weeks that now it was abiding; she knew that it would always be with her, on guard.
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