She bent down. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. ‘Because I love you. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. ‘You know about that?’ ‘It was the only possible deduction. She still kicked herself for it.
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