To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death. At length, about an hour before dawn on the second day—Sunday—having spent the early part of the night in watching at the gates of the robbers' sanctuary, and being almost exhausted from want of rest, she set out homewards. Too much blood has been shed already. She was no longer certain that she desired an Englishman, if she must judge of one in particular. She cocked her head. She entered the last room, his bedroom. Doctors constantly admonished and offered weak consolation that most would have been hurt much worse from the type of fall he took. I feel that I shall stifle unless I can do something—and do something soon.
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