He meant to take her out of this room, perhaps even out of the house. Anyhow, there was some pleasurable satisfaction in knowing where the quarry would be for the next three weeks. And he departed, just as Wood, who had become alarmed by Thames's long absence, made his appearance with a blunderbuss in his hand. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle.
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