“How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. He waited for an instant, wasting an encouraging smile in the imperfect light, and then shut the doors of the van, leaving the women in darkness. The faithful fellow will never leave me. ‘I’m a soldier, missie. It must be some days before you can arrange for her to make an identification. Shame and electricity coursed through her veins, flowing directly from him in a flash flood. "Every inch of it," replied the woollen-draper. "Will that do?" he added, returning it. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. You could return to civilization and have a good time all the rest of your days. I shall lose my fees and the laced coat. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school.
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