Lady Trafford uttered a prolonged scream, and fainted. With great difficulty, Wood forced a path through the ruins. But just as they were about to place him on the ground, he burst from their hold, and made a desperate spring at Jonathan, who was standing with his arms folded near the door watching the scene. Happily they had no one else to wait for, and it heartened her mightily to think that she had ordered the promptest possible service of the dinner. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. He did it, he said, “to distract his mind. And then her pace slackened. She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach.
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