That same adventurousness that had already buoyed her through crises that would have overwhelmed any normally feminine girl with shame and horror now became uppermost again. His large, coarse lips drew wider apart. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. His countenance was almost as white and rigid as that of the corpse by his side. What his head conceived his hand executed. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. At a turn in the road, he perceived Winifred looking anxiously towards him, and when she discovered him, she waved her hand. Hill, Meysey Hill. If I am to die in the attempt, then so be it.
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