passed; even the soldiers going up to the battlefields, going up to
wounds and death, turned to look at this creature of superb and brilliant
life. Even on the boat he must have had a dreadful wonder whether John
was bound for Ghent; he must have known from the beginning that wherever
Conway placed himself he would stand out and make other men look small
and insignificant. If he wasn't jealous and afraid of Sutton she supposed
it was because John had had that rather diminishing effect on poor Billy.

If Billy Sutton distinguished himself that would open McClane's eyes a
little wider, too.

She wondered why Billy kept on saying that McClane was a great
psychologist. If it was true that would be very awful for McClane; he
would see everything going on inside people, then, all the things he
didn't want to see; he wouldn't miss anything, and he would know all the
time what John was like. The little man was wilfully shutting his eyes
because he was so mean that he couldn't bear to see John as he really
was. Now he would have to see.

The thought of McClane's illumination consoled her for her own inferior
place in the adventure. This time the chauffeurs would have to stay at
the end of the village with their cars. The three were drawn up at the
street side, close under the house walls, McClane's first. Then Sutton's,
with Gwinnie. Then hers; behind it the short straight road where the
firing would come down.

John stood in the roadway waiting for the others. He had his hand beside
her hand, grasping the arm of the driver's seat.

"I wish you could take me with you," she said.