Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself. ” She paused. " "Would you like to have me read to you?" He did not answer. ” “What’s our lot?” asked her sister. ’ Gerald laughed. He figures them out, though. ” Lucy stated. But he was at last persuaded that I mean you no harm, and that I might—just possibly, since I am both a gentleman and a major of militia—be able to be of more assistance to you than he himself.
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