For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. Most of the vessels lying in the river were driven from their moorings, dashed tumultuously against each other, or blown ashore. But his hand was withheld by Thames. “A girl needs her mother most exactly when she thinks she doesn’t. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. I’d ruin the things if I so much as touched one. That had taken her by surprise, and her tired wits had failed her. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands.
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