From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. Somewhere in the world there was a book clerk with a discerning mind; for he had given her the best he had. He died in the war. Why had she married him, off-hand, like that? She did not love him, or he knew nothing of love signs. ’ Fury rippled again. To get behind that impenetrable curtain, to learn why she hated her island. There was now no honest way of warning Taber that the net had been drawn. Any man might have endeavoured to protect himself in this fashion, a man with no one to care, with an unnameable terror at the thought (as if it mattered!) of being buried in alien earth, far from the familiar places he loved. Oh, you must believe me. .
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