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" "Her release would be a mercy," pursued the matron. ‘Obstinate fool!’ She saw Gosse raise a hand, and dug into her nun’s habit for the knife she had not thought to need. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. She hoped that he would at long last remember his young male pride. “I said you were”—he shouted—“NOT TO GO!” She made, and overdid, an immense effort to be a princess. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. And now she had sent Jack away. The Procession to Tyburn. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. 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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