So, by way of gaining time, he resolved to question him further. 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. “All right, Dunster,” he said. The other must call a coach as quickly as he can. Old thoughts, old feelings, old faces, and old scenes have returned to me, and I have fancied myself happy,—as happy as I am now. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed. 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.
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