” She rolled over on her face, and stuffed her fingers in her ears to shut out the rhythm from her mind. ” Drummond shook his head in melancholy fashion. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Opening the door he then stepped into a dark narrow passage leading, as he was well aware, to the chapel. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. She distinctly shivered as he forced her to look at him.
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