The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. . So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. Impelled by a feeling, into which we shall not pause to inquire, the stranger started after them; but they were better mounted, and soon distanced him. The small Diedermayer clan was a captive audience. You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. He held her eyes. “He was a friend of your sister’s, was he not?” “I never heard her mention his name,” she answered.
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