Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. ’ ‘Are we to infer that he had a choice?’ enquired Gerald. He disappeared into its thick doors like a magician’s rabbit. What a heat that news had wrought. Jonathan, however, paid no sort of attention to this demonstration of hatred. If Jack should die, all though her fault, she could never forgive herself. In the pause she realized the attention of the others converged upon her, and that the tears were brimming over her eyes. Mike was showing his territorial instincts, brought out by the fact that he was drunk. .
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